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GIFT   OF 


LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 


Turning  the  hilt  towards  her  father,  she  threw  back  her  head  and 
closed  her  eyes 


LIKE  ANOTHER 
HELEN 


BY 

GEORGE   HORTON 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
C.    M.    RELYEA 


*And,  like  another  Helen,  fired  another  Troy  " 


INDIANAPOLIS 

The  BOWEN-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


: 


COPYRIGHT  1900 
BY  GEORGE  HORTON 


COPYRIGHT  1901 
BY  THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  COMPANY 


Braun  worth,  Munn  &?  Barber 

Printers  and  Binders 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 


DEDICATED  BY  KIND  PERMISSION  TO 
HIS  ROYAL  HIGHNESS 

GEORGE  OF  GREECE 

HIGH    COMMISSIONER    IN  .CRETE 


CONTENTS 

i 

YOUTHFUL  ENTHUSIASM  r 

II 
ON  FRIENDLY  SHORES  26 

III 
A  COMIC  OPERA  TOWN  37 

IV 
A  DINNER  OF  HERBS  45 

V 
SOME  PICTURES  AND  A  RECITATION          57 

VI 
THE  FIRST  OF  MAY  67 

VII 
A  DEMAND  AND  A  COWARD  85 

VIII 
SMOKE  BY  DAY  AND  FIRE  BY  NIGHT         90 

IX 
AWAITING  THE  SIGNAL  96 

X 

WAR  IN  EARNEST  101 

XI 
AN  AMATEUR  SURGEON  105 

XII 
"STILL  I  SAY  UNTO  YOU,  COURAGE!"       112 

XIII 
THE  BRAVE  THING  TO  DO  118 


CONTENTS 

XIV 
A  CRITICAL  MOMENT  129 

XV 

THE  MAN  IN  THE  BARREL  135 

XVI 
To  No  AVAIL  142 

XVII 
IN  THE  TRACK  OF  WAR  148 

XVIII 
A  DESERTED  TOWN  154 

XIX 
A  BLOW  IN  THE  DARK  161 

XX 

FOUR  AGAINST  ONE  172 

XXI 

"MY  LIFE,  I  LOVE  YOU"  1 86 

XXII 
THE  AMBUSH  196 

XXIII 
A  FRIEND  WORTH  HAVING  205 

XXIV 
A  GLITTERING  ESPLANADE  211 

XXV 
THREE  WIVES  221 

XXVI 
A  HOPELESS  PRISONER  229 

XXVII 
A  PROMISE  OF  HELP  232 


CONTENTS 

XXVIII 
PRIDE  AND  ITS  FALL  237 

XXIX 

AGAINST  THE  COMMON  ENEMY  242 

XXX 
A  HERO  AND  A  SIX-INCH  SHELL  250 

XXXI 
A  GRATEFUL  MAJOR  262 

XXXII 
A  VIOLENT  WOOER  269 

XXXIII 
THE  INNOCENT  ONLOOKER  274 

XXXIV 

STILL  WITH  THE  ARMY  285 

XXXV 

IN  THE  MIDST  OF  ALARMS  291 

XXXVI 

AN  INTERRUPTED  RESCUE  '  300 

XXXVII 
YE  WHO  ENTER  HERE  317 

XXXVIII 
THE  BETTER  PART  OF  VALOR  329 

XXXIX 
To  A  PLACE  OF  SAFETY  344 

XL 

A  TROUBLED  MIND  352 

XLI 

ROMANCE  AND  PRUDENCE  367 


LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 


CHAPTER  I 
YOUTHFUL    ENTHUSIASM 

JUST  at  sunset  one  day  in  the  last  week  of 
March,  1897,  a  caique  set  sail  from  the 
harbor  of  Piraeus,  ostensibly  laden  with 
cognac  for  Cairo,  but  in  reality  carrying  a 
small  revolving  cannon  and  a  large  number 
of  Gras  rifles  to  the  insurgents  in  Crete,  who 
had  risen  for  the  hundredth  time  and  were 
fighting  desperately  for  liberty  and  the  Chris 
tian  faith.  There  were  several  large  barrels, 
conspicuously  marked  "Koniak"  in  Greek 
characters,  on  the  deck,  and  a  number  of 
boxes  that  bore  the  legend,  "Two  dozen  bot 
tles  from  Kambas,  Athens."  The  legend  was 
not  untruthful,  for  one  of  the  huge  casks,  at 
least,  contained  the  fiery  liquid  attributed  to 
it;  numberless  others,  in  the  hold,  were  filled 
with  guns,  and  the  boxes  below  deck  were 
packed  with  ammunition. 

There    were     other    things,    too,    in     the 
i 


2  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

caique's  cargo  intended  for  the  Cretan  heroes 
' — articles  of  a  seemingly  pacific  nature,  such 
as  hams,  hardtack,  flour,  sausages,  olives  and 
beans.  These  had  been  declared  contraband 
by  the  admirals  of  the  great  powers,  and  the 
whole  cargo,  should  it  be  seized  by  any  of  the 
warships  prowling  about  the  ancient  island, 
was  doomed  to  confiscation.  The  captain,  a 
thick-set,  square-shouldered  Greek,  in  greasy 
blue  suit,  soft  woolen  shirt  and  felt  hat,  held 
the  long  tiller  in  his  left  hand  and  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross  repeatedly  with  his  right. 

"Holy  Virgin  be  our  helper,"  he  muttered. 
"St.  Nicholas  protect  and  help  us!" 

A  stiff  breeze  was  blowing  and  the  vessel 
leaned  over,  like  a  tall  man  shouldering  his 
way  through  a  storm.  The  three  young  men 
standing  upon  her  deck  maintained  their 
equilibrium  by  shooting  one  leg  out  straight, 
as  though  it  were  the  prop  of  a  cabin  built 
on  the  side  of  a  hill;  the  other  being  short 
ened  to  half  its  length  by  bending  at  the  hip 
and  knee. 

A  strip  of  canvas  stretched  on  ropes,  to  keep 
the  waves  from  rushing  over,  ran  the  whole 
length  of  either  side.  Stern  and  prow  were 
equally  pointed,  and  the  iron  rings  of  the 
boom,  that  clutched  the  main  masts  like  the 


YOUTHFUL,  ENTHUSIASM  3 

fingers  of  a  closed  hand,  creaked  monoto 
nously.  Two  jibs,  fluttering  full-breasted  be 
fore,  seemed  to  pull  out  for  the  open  sea,  as 
a  pair  of  white  doves  might  in  old  time  have 
drawn  the  bark  of  Aphrodite.  The  waters  of 
the  bay,  that  lay  like  a  rolling  plain  of  green 
meadow  grass  and  blood-red  anemones  in 
the  dying  sun,  was  shredded  into  lily-white 
foam  by  the  ship's  iron  plowshare  and  hurled 
carelessly  into  the  broad  road  that  streamed 
out  behind. 

At  their  right  a  great  fleet  of  old-time  sail 
ing  ships,  many  of  them  painted  green,  lay 
rotting  at  their  anchors.  These  had  been  gal 
lant  craft  in  the  Viking  days  of  Greece,  far 
ing  to  the  coast  of  Russia,  to  England  and 
Spain  and  convertible  in  a  week's  notice  from 
peaceful  merchants  into  blockade  runners 
and  ships  of  the  line. 

Two  natty  officers  stepped  to  the  prow  of 
a  Russian  gunboat,  that  was  white  and  trim 
as  a  bride,  and  fixed  their  glasses  keenly  on 
the  caique. 

"Curse  you!''  growled  the  captain,  invol 
untarily  opening  his  hand,  the  Greek  sign  of 
an  imprecation. 

"St.  Nicholas  strike  you  blind!  Look  all 
you  will,  and  again  I'll  cheat  you." 


4  LIKE  ANOTHER   HELEN 

But  the  time  had  come  to  tack,  and  he 
shouted  the  order  to  the  sailors.  The  conven 
ient  canvas  was  shifted,  the  helm  was  put  over, 
and  the  caique  bore  straight  for  the  narrow 
mouth  of  the  harbor. 

A  great  sail  was  thrown  out  on  either  side 
like  a  pair  of  wings.  The  vessel  turned  its 
beak  to  the  south  and  swooped  down  the  wind 
like  a  hawk.  The  three  young  men  stood  with 
their  feet  apart  now,  their  legs  of  equal  length. 

"By  Jove,  that's  glorious!"  shouted  one  of 
them,  his  accent  betraying  the  American — 
probably  the  Bostonian. 

The  sun  stood  on  the  tiptop  of  Salamis,  say 
ing  good-night  to  the  world.  Athens  was  a 
pillar  of  purple  dust,  shot  through  and 
through  with  lances  of  flame.  The  stately 
columns  of  the  Parthenon  were  of  liquid  am 
ber.  The  church  on  the  summit  of  Mount 
Lycabettus  caught  fire  and  blazed.  The 
mountain  itself  was  hidden  in  a  column  of 
dust  and  the  church  floated  in  mid-air.  Then 
suddenly,  as  if  by  a  stroke  of  some  grand,  ce 
lestial  magic,  the  glow  died  from  everything 
as  the  blood  fades  from  a  frightened  face.  The 
Parthenon  was  a  pale,  stately  white,  the  ghost 
of  the  temple  of  a  moment  ago;  the  church 
on  the  hill  had  turned  gray — ashes  in  place  of 


YOUTHFU.L  1LNTHU8IA6M  5 

fire.  The  sun  had  dropped  behind  Salamis. 
But  now  came  a  greater  wonder:  Hymettus 
and  all  the  hills  that  surround  the  lovely  plain 
of  Attica  took  on  a  deep,  quivering,  unearthly 
tint  of  violet.  This  light  was  delicate,  fluffy, 
spiritual.  You  fancied  it  was  fragrant;  you 
imagined  that  all  the  fresh  spring  violets  of  a 
hundred  worlds  had  been  plucked  and  poured 
sea  deep  over  the  hills. 

A  sudden  lurch  of  the  ship  threw  the  Amer 
ican  against  the  man  at  his  side. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "or  perhaps 
you  do  not  speak  English?" 

"O,  yes,"  replied  the  person  addressed; 
"not  perfectly,  but  sufficiently  to  make  my 
self  understood.  Permit  me  to  introduce  my 
self." 

Producing  a  large  leathern  pocketbook,  he 
extracted  from  its  recesses  a  card.  The  hand 
that  presented  the  bit  of  pasteboard  was 
large,  pink  and  well  groomed.  The  Ameri 
can  read: 

Peter  Lindbohm, 
Lieutenant  de  Cavalerie. 

Lieutenant  Lindbohm  read  on  the  card 
which  he  received  in  return, 

Mr.  John  Curtis. 


6  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"I  am  happy  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Curtis,"  said 
the  Lieutenant,  politely  lifting  his  straw  hat 
and  then  drawing  it  down  over  his  ears  with 
both  hands.  The  hat  was  secured  to  the  but 
ton-hole  by  means  of  a  shoe  string,  and  had  a 
startling  habit  of  leaping  to  the  end  of  its 
tether  every  few  moments. 

"And  I  you,  Lieutenant/'  replied  Curtis 
heartily,  extending  his  hand. 

"You  are  going  to  Crete?" 

"No,  to  Cairo,"  laughed  the  Lieutenant. 

"O,  we're  all  onto  the  secret,  or  we  would 
n't  be  here.  And  I'm  mighty  glad  there's 
somebody  going  along  who  can  speak  Eng 
lish.  I  hope  we'll  be  good  friends,  and  I 
don't  see  why  we  shouldn't  be,  I'm  sure.  I'm 
just  out  of  college — Harvard,  you  know — 
and  the  governor  told  me  to  take  a  trip 
around  the  world.  He  believes  in  a  year  of 
travel  to  kind  of  complete  and  round  out  a 
man's  education." 

"I  find  it  an  excellent  idea,"  said  the  Lieu 
tenant,  grabbing  for  his  hat,  that  a  sudden 
puff  of  wind  had  swept  from  his  head. 

"Isn't  it?  It's  jolly.  Well,  I'm  going  to 
surprise  the  governor.  I'm  going  to  write 
a  book — sort  of  prose  'Childe  Harold.'  I 
wish  I  had  the  knack  to  do  it  in  verse.  I 


YOUTHFUIj  ENTHUSIASM  7 

thought  this  Cretan  business  would  make  a 
great  chapter,  so  I  went  straight  to  the  presi 
dent  of  the  committee  and  told  him  I  would 
write  the  struggle  up  from  a  Christian  stand 
point.  Nice  old  fellow.  Said  he  would  do 
anything  for  an  American,  and  put  me  onto 
this  snap.  I  ought  to  find  some  good  mate 
rial  down  there.  I'm  glad  the  governor  can't 
hear  of  this  thing  till  I  get  ready  to  tell  him." 

"That  is,  the  governor  of  New  York?" 
asked  the  Lieutenant. 

"No.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  My  governor — my  old 
man — my  father,  you  know." 

"Ah,  I  beg  pardon.  You  will  see  that  I  do 
not  know  the  English  so  well." 

The  Lieutenant  was  forty  years  of  age  or 
thereabouts.  His  straw  hat,  extremely  long 
gray  Prince  Albert  coat  and  russet  shoes  com 
bined  to  give  a  somewhat  incongruous  effect 
to  his  attire.  He  carried  a  slender  rattan  cane, 
that  was  faintly  suggestive  of  a  rapier,  and 
which  he  had  a  habit  of  twirling.  This  was  not 
theatrical.  It  was  rather  a  betrayal  than  an 
exhibition.  Blue,  very  light  blue  eyes,  straw- 
colored  hair,  a  horse-shoe  mustache,  six  feet 
three  of  stature  and  a  slight  stoop  in  the 
shoulders — such  was  Lieutenant  Peter  Lind- 
bohm  of  the  Swedish  or  any  other  army,  brave 


8  &IKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

fighter  in  the  Argentine,  in  China,  in  South 
Africa.  He  could  smell  burning  powder  half 
way  around  the  globe,  and  was  off  at  the  first 
telegram  announcing  the  declaration  of  a  new 
war.  He  was  brave  as  a  lion,  and  seemingly 
immune  from  danger.  He  always  offered 
his  sword  to  the  under  dog  first,  and  if  it  were 
refused,  gave  the  other  side  second  choice. 
He  preferred  to  fight  for  liberty  and  right, 
but  felt  it  a  necessity  to  fight  somehow.  He 
looked  at  you  with  innocent,  inquiring  eyes; 
his  manner  was  gentle  as  a  woman's  and  his 
smile  as  sweet  as  a  babe's. 

"You  have  given  me  your  confidence,"  he 
said.  "I  will  give  you  mine,  though  there  is 
not  much  to  tell.  I  am  a  soldier  by  profes 
sion.  I  was  down  among  the  Boers  when  I 
heard  of  this  trouble  in  Crete.  I  had  hoped 
for  war  there.  I  was  also  at  Majuba  Hill,  you 
see,  and  President  Kruger  knows  me.  But 
the  English  will  not  attack  now,  so  I  decided 
in  a  moment.  I  yust  came  right  along, 
hence  my  straw  hat." 

Another  leap  into  the  air  of  the  article  in 
question  had  called  the  speaker's  attention  to 
it.  Though  he  spoke  grammatically  correct 
English,  he  mispronounced  his  "j's"  whenever 
taken  off  his  guard. 


YOUTHFUL  ENTHUSIASM  9 

"A  soldier  cannot  draw  his  sword  in  a  bet 
ter  cause  than  in  behalf  of  these  brave  Cretans, 
who  have  won  their  liberty  a  dozen  times 
over,"  he  added,  drawing  his  cane  from  his 
left  thigh  as  though  it  were  a  sword. 

"In  the  name  of  my  country,  thank  you," 
said  the  third  of  the  trio,  a  very  young 
Greek,  with  a  round  face,  a  brilliantly  tinted 
olive  complexion  and  large,  liquid,  chestnut 
eyes.  He  was  a  small  man  and  excitable  in 
his  actions.  He  wore  a  business  suit,  a  heavy 
ulster  and  a  flat  derby  hat. 

"May  I  do  myself  the  great  honor  to  pre 
sent  myself?"  He  spoke  stilted  English,  and 
evidently  composed  his  sentences  before  ut 
tering  them.  Curtis,  fresh  from  ^Eschylus  and 
Plato,  and  an  excellent  course  of  modern 
Greek,  had  no  difficulty  in  translating  the  le 
gend  on  the  proffered  card:  "Michali  Papa- 
dakes,  Student  in  the  National  University  of 
Greece." 

"I  am  a  Cretan,  and  I  go  to  fight  for  my 
country.  The  Turks  have  burned  my  fath 
er's  house  and  his  three  villages.  They  have 
cut  down  his  olive  trees,  insulted  my  sister  and 
murdered  our  tenants.  My  family  are  now  in 
Athens,  refugees.  I  go  against  my  father's — 
what  do  you  call  it? — command.  But  had  I 


IO  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

remained  at  Athens  I  should  have  been  a 
l&che—a— " 

"Coward,"  interposed  the  Lieutenant,  seiz 
ing  the  young  man's  hand.  "It  is  you  who  do 
us  the  honor." 

"By  Jove,  you're  the  right  sort!"  cried  Cur 
tis.  "I'm  glad  to  know  you." 

"I  go  to  kill  Turks,"  continued  Papadakes, 
shaking  both  his  clenched  fists  in  the  air. 
"They  may  kill  me,  but  not  till  I  have  paid  to 
them  the  debt  which  I  owe.  At  least,  I  shall 
with  my  blood  the  tree  of  liberty  water." 

When  John  Curtis  suddenly  flew  off  on  a 
tangent  to  Crete  from  the  Puck-like  circle 
that  he  was  putting  around  the  earth,  he  act 
ed  under  the  impulse  of  youth  and  its  ever 
present  enthusiasm.  He  arrived  at  Athens  in 
the  midst  of  tremendous  popular  excitement. 
Great  throngs  were  gathering  daily  in  front 
of  the  king's  palace,  waving  banners  and 
throwing  their  hats  in  the  air.  Curtis  could 
see  it  all  plainly  from  the  balcony  of  his  hotel 
on  Constitution  Square.  Occasionally  some 
member  of  the  throng  would  mount  the  mar 
ble  steps,  and,  throwing  his  arms  wildly  about, 
begin  to  speak;  but  the  speech  was  always 
drowned  in  a  hoarse  roar. 

Curtis  at  first  could  not  understand  a  word 


YOUTHFUL  ENTHUSIASM  II 

that  was  said,  but  he  felt  himself  seized  with 
a  growing  excitement.  If  he  started  for  the 
Acropolis  or  the  Garden  of  Plato,  he  forgot 
his  intention  and  found  himself  running,  he 
knew  not  where,  and  longing  to  shout,  he 
knew  not  what;  for  as  his  ears  became  accus 
tomed  to  the  sound,  he  observed  that  the 
whole  city  was  shouting  the  same  words,  over 
and  over  again. 

"What  is  it  they  are  yelling  all  the  time?" 
Curtis  asked  himself  repeatedly,  "and  what 
are  they  singing?  Tra-la-la,  tra-la-la  la!"  he 
was  humming  the  tune  himself.  A  certain 
pride  prevented  his  seeking  information  from 
the  hotel  proprietor  or  of  one  of  the  officious 
couriers.  He  had  been  no  mean  Grecian  at 
Harvard,  and  had  read  "Loukes  Laras"  in  the 
modern  vernacular.  He  could  speak  modern 
Greek  fairly  well  with  the  fruit  men  of  Bos 
ton.  He  would  solve  the  mystery  himself. 
And  he  did.  It  came  to  him  like  a  revelation. 
Three  words,  scrawled  or  printed,  began  to 
appear  on  all  the  whitewashed  fences  and 
walls  of  the  city.  With  some  difficulty  he 
found  a  copy  sufficiently  plain  for  a  foreigner 
to  read:  "Zeto  ho  polemos" — "Hurrah  for 
War!" 

Then  he  listened  again.    Ten  minutes  later 


12  LIKE  ANOTHER  HEJLEN 

he  was  in  the  midst  of  a  swaying,  struggling 
throng  before  the  palace  shouting  "Zeto  ho 
polemos!" 

At  dinner  he  heard  his  waiter  humming  the 
tune  that  seemed  on  the  lips  and  in  the  heart 
of  the  whole  world,  and  he  asked,  "What  are 
you  singing?"  The  boy,  with  eyes  blazing, 
recited  in  Greek  two  or  three  stanzas  that 
sent  a  chill  to  the  roots  of  Curtis'  hair: 

I  know  thee  by  the  lightning 

Of  thy  terrible  swift  brand; 
I  know  thee  by  the  brightening 

When  thy  proud  eyes  sweep  the  land! 

From  the  blood  of  the  Greeks  upspringing 

Who  died  that  we  might  be  free, 
And  the  strength  of  thy  strong  youth  bringing — 

Hail,  Liberty,  hail  to  thee! 

It  was  the  grand  war  hymn  of  Solomos,  one 
of  those  songs  that  march  down  the  years, 
fighting  like  a  thousand  men  for  liberty. 

Curtis  was  twenty-two,  and  imagined  him 
self  an  ancient  Greek  or  a  Lord  Byron.  He 
would  get  into  this  thing  somehow.  He 
went  back  to  the  hotel  and  thought  it  over, 
and  then  he  discovered  that  he  had  been  car 
ried  away  by  excitement. 

"I'm  crazy,"  he  said;  "I'd  have  gone  any 
where  with  those  chaps,  and  the  fact  of  the 


YOUTHFUL,  ENTHUSIASM  13 

matter  is,  I  ought  to  be  in  Jerusalem  at  this 
minute.  Fve  overstayed  my  time  here  four 
days  now." 

But  his  enthusiasm  for  the  Greeks  and  their 
cause  would  not  down.  There  had  been  an 
other  massacre  of  Christians  in  Crete  and  the 
king  had  sent  Colonel  Vassos  with  an  army 
to  seize  the  island  in  the  cause  of  humanity. 
Prince  George  had  followed  soon  after  with 
the  torpedo  squadron. 

"I'd  be  a  chump  to  enlist  as  a  common  sol 
dier,"  thought  Curtis;  "besides,  I  couldn't  do 
much  good  that  way,  and  the  governor  never 
would  give  me  money  enough  to  fit  out  a 
company  with." 

Then  he  thought  of  the  book. 

"I  have  it!"  he  cried.  "I  will  show  up  this 
Cretan  question  to  the  whole  civilized  world. 
I'll  get  right  out  among  the  people.  I'll  de 
scribe  them  as  they  are — their  manners  and 
customs.  I'll  see  some  of  these  villages  that 
the  Turks  have  burned,  and  I'll  get  a  lot  of 
stories  of  outrages  from  the  peasants  them 
selves.  I'll  touch  the  thing  up,  too,  with  his 
tory  and  poetry." 

John  Curtis  inherited  from  his  father  a 
strong  will,  and  the  sort  of  courage  that  grows 
with  the  danger  which  requires  it.  He  had 


14  UKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

also  inherited  a  regulating  strain  of  Yankee 
caution.  His  mind  was  like  a  pendulum,  cau 
tion  taking  the  place  of  the  attraction  of  grav 
ity.  Just  at  the  moment  when  it  reached  the 
highest  point  of  oscillation  there  was  an  ever 
present  force  waiting  to  pull  it  the  other  way. 
But  at  present  he  was  only  twenty-two,  and 
the  struggle  between  New  England  prudence 
and  youthful  enthusiasm  had  not  yet  been  de 
cided. 

Besides,  his  mother  had  bestowed  upon  his 
nature  a  tinge  of  romanticism,  and  that  im 
pulsiveness  which  sometimes  becomes  rash 
ness  in  a  man.  He  was  rather  short  in  stat 
ure,  with  a  thick  neck,  long  arms  and  sinewy 
hands.  His  closely  cropped  hair  was  dark 
brown,  and  his  mustache  was  more  of  a  prom 
ise  than  a  fulfillment.  There  was  a  healthy 
color  in  his  boyish  cheek,  neither  ruddy  nor 
pale.  The  fact  is  that  John  Curtis  had  been 
an  all-around  athlete  at  college,  whose  fame 
will  last  for  many  a  day. 

As  he  stood  now  upon  the  deck  of  the 
caique,  he  looked  every  inch  the  thing  that  he 
was,  a  wholesome,  healthy-minded  American 
youth — clear  grit,  muscle  and  self-reliance. 
He  wore  an  English  yachting  cap  and  a 


YOUTHFUL  ENTHUSIASM  15 

heavy  new  ulster.  Suspended  from  his  shoul 
der  by  a  strap  hung  a  camera. 

Night  came  on,  with  a  fresh  breeze  and  a 
sea  that  rose  and  fell  like  a  great  carpet  when 
wind  comes  in  under  the  door.  It  melted  the 
stars  of  the  underworld  and  washed  them  into 
unstable  and  fantastic  shapes.  But  overhead 
the  constellations  and  the  myriad  suns 
bloomed  with  passionate,  lyric  splendor;  Je 
hovah's  garden  where  he  walks  in  the  cool 
of  the  day;  God's  swarm  of  golden  bees, 
wind-drifted  to  their  hive  beyond  the  thymey 
hills. 

The  three  comrades — for  hearts  strike 
hands  in  a  moment  on  the  sea  or  in  the  wilder 
ness — sat  silent  upon  the  deck.  A  sailor 
approached  on  tiptoe  and  offered  Curtis  a  gui 
tar.  Without  a  word  the  American  passed 
it  to  the  Greek. 

"But  perhaps  you  play  and  sing,"  said  the 
latter,  offering  the  instrument  to  the  Swede. 

"My  friend  is  right,"  replied  the  latter. 
"Any  language  but  Greek  would  be  profana 
tion  here." 

Without  further  protest  Michali  struck  a 
few  chords  of  a  wild,  sweet  air,  and  commenced 
to  sing  in  a  low  voice,  a  song  that  is  known 
wherever  the  waves  of  Greece  plash  in  the 


16  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

sun  or  her  nightingales  lift  their  voices  by 
night  in  the  lemon  orchards.  The  sailors 
and  the  captain  caught  up  the  melody  and  as 
sisted,  for  what  Greek  does  not  know: 

NIGHT'S  FIRST  STAR. 

The  first  of  all  the  stars  of  night 

In  heaven  is  shyly  beaming. 
The  waves  play  in  their  gowns  of  white 

While  mother  sea  lies  dreaming. 

Among  the  leaves  on  gentle  wing 

A  balmy  zephyr  flutters, 
The  nightingale  begins  to  sing 

And  all  love's  sorrow  titters. 

For  you  the  zephyr  sighs,  my  love, 

In  passion  low  and  tender, 
For  you  the  little  stars  above 

Dispense  their  yearning  splendor. 

For  you  the  tiny  waves,  ashore 
Their  garnered  foam  are  bringing; 

For  you  his  love  song,  o'er  and  o'er 
The  nightingale  is  singing. 

For  you  from  yonder  mountain  high 
The  moon  pours  out  her  measure, 

For  you  all  day  I  moan  and  sigh, 
My  little  dear,  my  treasure! 

A  moment  of  silence,  which  is,  after  all,  the 
best  applause,  followed  the  song.  Then  some 
one  ejaculated  a  long-drawn-out  "Ah!"— a 


YOUTHFUL  ENTHUSIASM  17 

mingled  sigh  of  wonder,  joy  and  admiration, 
followed  by  a  chorus  of  "Ahs!"  and  a  shout 
of  "There  she  comes."  Curtis  and  Lindbohm 
sprang  to  their  feet  and  looked  around.  An 
uncouth  sailor,  with  shaggy  capote  thrown 
over  his  left  shoulder,  was  pointing  with  out 
stretched  arm  at  the  rising  moon.  The  en 
tire  crew  were  gazing  at  a  great  golden  disc 
that  was  slowly  sliding  into  view  from  behind  a 
mountain.  A  long  trail  of  light  fell  athwart 
the  caique,  and  seemed  to  pave  the  way  to  a 
group  of  shadowy  islands,  now  dimly  visible. 
They  were  sailing  across  a  golden  road, 
through  a  shower  of  impalpable  gold  dust. 
Higher  and  higher  rose  the  glorious  sphere, 
until  merely  its  edge  rested  on  the  mountain 
top;  there  it  clung  for  a  moment  and  then 
swung  loose  into  the  starry  sky.  In  the  mys 
tic,  unearthly  glow,  the  faces  of  the  rough 
sailors  were  idealized.  They  looked  at  one  an 
other  in  silent  wonder.  Curtis  partook  of  the 
awe,  the  joy.  He  felt  as  though  he  were  in  a 
grand  temple  and  the  goddess  had  revealed 
herself;  and  so  did  these  poor  descendants  of 
ancient  Greece,  though  they  knew  it  not.  The 
American  had  seen  the  moon  rise  before  in 
Greece,  but  never  on  the  sea  and  never  in  the 
society  of  genuine,  unspoiled  children  of  the 


l8  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

country.  It  was  a  revelation,  a  birth  of  glory, 
a  miracle. 

For  several  days  the  "Holy  Mary,"  as  the 
caique  was  called,  cruised  among  islands  that 
seemed  to  float  in  an  opal  sea.  Some  of  them 
were  steep  rocks,  on  which  a  single  shepherd 
dwelt  with  his  flocks.  Often  as  they  flitted 
through  the  shadow  of  a  precipice  that  rose, 
high  and  stern  as  the  walls  of  a  medieval  cas 
tle,  which  a  few  scattered  pines  were  perilous 
ly  scaling,  a  shaggy  head  would  look  down 
from  the  overhanging  battlement  and  shout 
some  salutation  in  Greek.  At  other  times 
they  skirted  green  valleys,  guarded  at  the 
shore  by  a  band  of  sentinel  cypress  trees,  tall 
and  straight;  through  these,  tiny  streams 
came  leaping  and  laughing  down  to  the  sea. 
Arcadian  villages,  gleaming  white  in  the  sun, 
sat  peacefully  on  distant  cliffs,  or  straggled 
down  through  olive  orchards  toward  a  bit  of 
whiter  beach;  old  monasteries  dreamed  in 
green  and  lonely  nooks. 

On  a  cloudy  afternoon,  when  the  wind  was 
blowing  fresh  and  fair,  and  the  waves  that 
ran  behind  shivered  blackly  ere  they  broke 
into  foam,  the  captain  set  all  sail  and  headed 
straight  for  the  northern  shore  of  Crete.  The 
caique  plunged  like  a  child's  rocking  horse. 


YOUTHFUL  ENTHUSIASM  19 

The  three  passengers  went  down  into  the  lit 
tle  cabin,  that  smelled  of  bilgewater  and  stale 
goat's  cheese.  A  smoky  lantern,  hanging 
from  a  hook  in  the  roof,  cast  a  flickering  light 
on  the  rickety  ladder,  the  four  plank  walls 
and  the  eikons  of  Mary  and  Nicholas,  that 
peered  from  round  holes  cut  in  tawdry  squares 
of  silver.  There  were  two  bunks  and  a  table 
that,  when  not  in  use,  drew  up  its  one  leg  and 
fell  back  against  the  wall.  Curtis  and  his  two 
companions  rattled  about  in  the  narrow  room 
like  peas  in  a  fool's  gourd.  Every  few  mo 
ments  water  slopped  and  sputtered  on  the 
deck  and  brine  dripped  down  through  the 
thin  hatches.  When  Curtis  heard  the  spray 
patter  over  the  planks  he  thought  of  the 
rats  that  used  to  run  over  the  garret  floor  of 
a  farmhouse  where  he  sometimes  slept  when 
in  America.  The  Swede  produced  one  of 
those  ineffable  cigars  that  one  buys  in  Italy 
by  the  meter,  broke  off  a  couple  of  inches  and 
offered  the  stick  to  his  companions,  who  re 
fused.  Soon  a  smell  resembling  burning 
goat's  hair  filled  the  cabin. 

"Ah,"  sighed  Lindbohm,  "what  a  comfort 
is  tobacco!" 

Poor  Michali  collapsed  in  a  spasm  of 
coughing  seasickness. 


20  IjIKE  ANOTHER  HEUEN 

Curtis,  gnashing  his  teeth  and  declaring 
that  he  would  not  yield,  scrambled  up  the  lad 
der  and  butted  the  hatches  open  with  his  head. 
The  most  incongruous  ideas  kept  running 
through  his  brain,  sick  as  he  was.  As  he 
sprawled  out  upon  the  deck  and  the  two  trap 
doors  fell  behind  him  with  a  slam,  he  thought 
of  a  jack-in-the-box  that  had  been  given  him 
on  his  fourth  Christmas.  Curtis  rose  cautious 
ly  erect,  and  threw  himself  at  the  nearest  mast. 
It  was  not  raining,  but  occasional  faint  elec 
tric  flashes  revealed  a  lurid  world  full  of  inky 
waves. 

'There's  no  danger  at  all  in  this  sort  of 
thing,"  he  muttered,  "if  these  beggars  under 
stand  their  business." 

The  hatches  came  down  again  with  a  slam. 
Michali,  kneeling  upon  the  deck,  gave  vent  to 
his  sufferings  in  elliptical  groans.  At  the 
point  of  greatest  diameter  they  were  sugges 
tive  of  a  strong  man  vainly  striving  to  yield 
up  the  ghost. 

"Come  here,  old  man,"  shouted  Curtis,  "the 
fresh  air  will  fix  you  all  right  in  a  minute." 

"That  tobacco,"  gasped  Michali,  "would 
have  made  me  to  be  sick  on  land  or  sea." 

"What's  going  on  up  there?"  asked  the 
American.  The  three  sailors  were  gathered 


YOUTHFUL  ENTHUSIASM  21 

about  the  captain  and  all  were  talking  excited 
ly.  Michali  listened.  The  stinging  spray  was 
whipping  the  sickness  out  of  him. 

"They  see  the  signal,"  he  replied.  "Ah, 
there  it  is!" 

High  up  and  far  away  flickered  a  ruddy 
flame.  No  object  was  distinguishable  near 
it  or  anywhere  else.  It  simply  glowed  there 
alone  in  the  darkness,  like  a  witch's  candle. 
Had  there  been  any  earth  or  sky  it  would 
have  been  half  way  between  them. 

"It  is  our  beacon,"  exclaimed  the  Greek, 
"we  shall  sail  straight  for  that  and  we  come 
to  the  part  of  the  shore  where  we  the  landing 
make.  They  have  light  it  far  up  in  the  moun 
tain,  that  all  who  see  may  think  it  a  shepherd's 
camp." 

Curtis  was  seized  with  uncontrollable  ex 
citement.  Crawling  to  the  cabin,  he  shouted 
down  to  the  Swede,  "Come  up,  Lieutenant, 
we're  nearing  land!" 

The  box  again  flew  open  and  this  time 
Lindbohm  was  the  jack  that  bobbed  out. 

"Why,  it's  dark  as  a  pocket,"  he  said,  "how 
can  any  one  see  whether  land  is  near  or  not?" 

Curtis  seized  the  Lieutenant's  head  gently 
with  both  hands  and  turned  it  toward  the  sig 
nal.  The  Swede  whistled  softly. 

"Yust  so,"  he  said. 


22  UKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

After  another  twenty  minutes  a  sailor 
brought  a  lantern  from  the  cabin  and  hung  it 
to  a  hook  on  the  forward  mast.  For  over  an 
hour  there  had  been  no  lightning,  and  now  a 
sudden  flash  hissed  and  died  as  though  one 
had  attempted  to  light  a  match  in  a  gusty 
room.  There  was  but  a  moment  of  light,  but 
that  was  enough.  There,  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
distant,  extended  beckoningly  and  invitingly 
toward  the  little  vessel,  were  the  arms  of  a  nar 
row  bay;  and  down  the  shore,  perhaps  a  mile 
away,  a  gunboat  stole  stealthily  and  slowly 
along. 

To  the  left  a  stretch  of  coast,  perhaps  two 
miles  in  length,  ended  suddenly  in  a  towering 
cliff.  By  turning  they  would  have  the  wind 
square  in  the  sails  and  would  be  making 
straight  for  the  promontory.  This  expedient 
evidently  occurred  to  the  captain,  who  knew 
every  inch  of  the  Cretan  coast  as  well  as  he 
knew  the  deck  of  his  own  caique,  for  he  in 
stantly  gave  the  necessary  orders. 

"It  would  never  have  done  to  put  into  the 
bay,"  observed  Lindbohm,  "they  would  have 
us  like  rats  in  a  trap.  That's  one  of  the  block 
ading  squadron.  They're  looking  for  yust 
such  people  as  we  are." 

"They  haven't  seen  us,  glory  to  God!"  cried 
Michali. 


YOUTHFUX  ENTHUSIASM  23 

The  three  passengers  had  crowded  about 
the  captain,  who  stood  at  the  tiller.  The 
caique  was  now  skipping  from  crest  to  crest 
like  a  flying  fish. 

"To  St.  Nicholas  and  the  Virgin  I  give 
equal  praise,"  devoutly  responded  the  cap 
tain. 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth 
before  the  gunboat  began  to  whip  the  sea 
with  her  search  light.  Up  into  the  clouds 
shot  the  spreading  lash,  as  though  spitefully 
wielded  by  a  giant  arm,  and  then,  "whiz,"  it 
struck  the  waters  where  the  caique  had  been 
five  minutes  before. 

"Katarra!"  cried  the  crew  in  chorus,  roll 
ing  the  "r's."  Katarra  is  the  best  substitute 
in  the  world  for  a  good  English  "damn," 
which  is  exactly  what  it  means. 

"What  orders  is  he  giving?"  asked  Curtis. 

"To  put  on  all  sail,"  replied  Michali.  "I 
hope  he  don't  tip  us  over." 

"With  the  wind  squarely  behind  us  there's 
no  danger,"  said  the  Swede,  who,  having  Vik 
ing  blood  in  his  veins  knew  a  sailing  boat  by 
instinct.  "If  the  masts  and  the  canvas  hold, 
we  are  all  right,  and  the  devil  himself  can't 
catch  us." 


24  JL1KE  ANOTHER  HEL.EN 

Again  the  whip  fell,  again  and  yet  again. 
At  last  it  struck  fairly  upon  the  little  ship  with 
blinding  radiance.  Curtis  gave  vent  to  a  sur 
prised  "Ah!"  as  he  had  sometimes  done  in  a 
theater,  when  the  electricity  had  been  unex 
pectedly  turned  on  after  twenty  minutes  of 
midnight  murder  or  burglary  on  the  stage. 
A  sailor  was  luridly  sprawling  in  the  air,  half 
way  up  the  foremast,  and  the  two  others  were 
pulling  at  a  rope.  The  faces  of  the  little 
group  at  the  tiller  looked  ghastly  in  the  un 
natural  light.  The  caique  rose  and  fell  with 
the  long  striding  motion  of  a  fleet  horse  run 
ning  close  to  the  ground.  At  regular  inter 
vals  a  discharge  of  fine  spray  swept  length 
wise  of  the  deck  and  stung  the  face  like  hand- 
fuls  of  rice,  flung  at  a  wedding. 

The  light  was  now  a  great  triangle,  lying 
on  the  sea,  and  the  caique  was  flying  toward 
its  base.  The  promontory  seemed  to  slide 
rapidly  toward  them  along  one  of  its  sides. 

A  gun  boomed  in  the  triangle's  apex.  Cur 
tis  and  Michali  ducked  their  heads  and  closed 
their  eyes  tight.  The  captain  and  crew  again 
cried  "Katarra"  in  chorus,  and  Lindbohm 
laughed. 

"Blank,"  he  said  sententiously;  "that  means 
'lay  to.'  " 


YOUTHFUL  ENTHUSIASM  25 

The  promontory  slid  nearer.  Another  gun, 
this  time  with  a  sharp,  coughing  sound,  fol 
lowed  by  a  crescendo-diminuendo  scream, 
like  the  demoniac  wail  of  winter  wind. 

"A  shell,"  explained  the  Swede.  "That 
means  business.  If  they're  Russians,  they 
can't  hit  us.  If  French,  they  probably  won't, 
in  this  sea.  If  English,  they  probably  will. 
We  must  yust  take  our  chances.  What  does 
the  captain  say?" 

"Here's  the  point,"  translated  Michali, 
"once  around  that  they  will  never  find  us." 

Curtis  looked.  The  steep  cliff  photo 
graphed  itself  indelibly  upon  his  mind.  It 
towered  high  above  their  heads,  rude,  grim, 
and  perpendicular,  but  at  its  base  a  spur  of 
land  sloped  into  the  water,  like  the  foot  to  a 
mighty  leg.  And  as  he  looked,  a  crashing 
sound  was  heard,  and  the  little  vessel  shivered 
and  lurched,  wounded  to  death. 

"English,  by  damn!"  cried  Lindbohm.  "Can 
you  swim?" 


CHAPTER  II 

ON   FRIENDLY   SHORES 


£  £  T  T  ow  sha11  *  ever  thank  y°u  for  sav~ 

I     I      ing  my  life?" 

"Very  easily.  If  you  know 
anything  about  this  part  of  the  island  you 
can  yust  lead  us  out  of  here.  If  we  don't 
find  something  to  eat  to-day  we  shall  be  sorry 
we  didn't  drown.  I'd  rather  drown  than 
starve  any  time.  It  don't  last  so  long,  and 
isn't  so  painful/' 

The  two  speakers  were  Michali  and  the 
Lieutenant.  They  were  standing,  together 
with  the  American,  beside  a  fire  of  driftwood 
which  the  vestas  in  Curtis'  metal  matchbox 
had  enabled  them  to  light.  A  bit  of  sand, 
sheltered  from  the  waves  by  a  projecting  rock, 
had  made  it  easy  for  them  to  land.  It  is  true 
that  Michali's  strength  had  soon  given  out, 
but  his  friends,  both  being  powerful  swim 
mers,  had  brought  him  to  the  shore  in  safety. 
After  scrambling  for  a  way  blindly  up  the  side 
of  a  hill,  actuated  by  an  instinctive,  though 
perhaps  groundless,  fear  of  capture,  they  had 

26 


FRIE:ND;LY  SHORES  27 

paused  and  looked  down  upon  the  sea.  There 
were  two  of  the  sailors  hanging  to  the  arm 
of  a  gallows  frame  planted  in  the  sea.  The 
torn  canvas  fluttered  helpless  in  the  wind.  The 
captain  clung  to  the  arm  of  another  gallows 
a  few  feet  distant,  and  the  third  sailor  was 
floating  about  over  the  submerged  caique  on 
the  cabin  roof.  The  gunboat  shied  out  into 
deeper  water,  and  brought  the  filibusters  in. 
Then  the  three  comrades  crouched  behind  a 
rock,  while  the  Cyclopean  eye  of  the  monster 
that  hurls  deadlier  missiles  than  old  Homer 
ever  dreamed  of  searched  hill  and  shore. 

"They'll  never  try  to  catch  us,"  said  Lind- 
bohm,  as  the  gunboat  sailed  away.  'They 
couldn't  if  they  wanted  to,  and  they've  no  par 
ticular  business  with  us  anyhow." 

So  they  built  a  fire  and  kept  themselves 
warm  as  much  by  the  exercise  of  bringing 
and  breaking  up  wood  as  by  the  flames  them 
selves.  When  morning  finally  peeped  at  the 
pallid  sea  and  kissed  its  face  to  ruddy  life  and 
laughter,  the  Cretan,  the  Swede  and  the 
American  looked  one  another  over  and  took 
an  inventory  of  their  condition.  They  were 
dry,  but  hungry.  Curtis  and  Michali  had  lost 
their  hats.  Michali  had  tied  a  handker 
chief  about  his  own  head  in  peasant  fashion, 


28  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

and  had  performed  the  same  office  for  Curtis. 
Lindbohm's  straw  had  not  escaped  from  the 
tether,  and  he  still  wore  it,  glistening  with 
salt  and  hanging  down  on  one  side  like  the 
wing  of  a  wounded  duck.  His  long  coat  had 
shrunk  until  the  tails  parted  in  the  middle  of 
his  back  as  though  the  space  between  them 
had  been  cut  out  with  a  triangular  stamp.  He 
alone  of  the  three  had  removed  his  shoes  after 
reaching  the  shore.  Not  being  able  to  put 
them  on  again,  he  cut  away  the  uppers,  and 
tied  the  remnant  on  with  strings,  which  he 
passed  through  the  holes  slashed  in  the  sides. 
A  resourceful  and  courageous  man  was  the 
Lieutenant. 

"Now,  we  are  ready/'  he  said,  to  Michali; 
"lead  on  to  breakfast." 

"I  think/'  replied  Michali,  "that  we  must 
to  the  sea  go  down,  and  pass  around  the  shore 
to  where  the  caique  wished  to  come  up.  There 
we  shall  find  Greeks  waiting.  Embros!"  (for 
ward.) 

But,  alas,  when  they  arrived  at  the  beach 
again  they  found  that  the  little  stretch  of  sand 
which  had  been  their  salvation  ended  against 
an  abrupt  wall  of  rock. 

"We  must  go  around  the  hill  the  other 
way,"  said  Curtis. 


ON  FRIENDLY  SHORES  29 

''We  may  happen  on  a  shepherd  or  see  a 
village,"  suggested  Michali,  cheerfully. 
"Many  people  live  along  this  northern  coast 
of  the  island." 

So  they  returned  again  to  the  bit  of  sandy 
beach  where  they  had  landed.  By  this  time 
it  was  ten  o'clock. 

"Hello!  What's  this?"  cried  Curtis,  who 
was  walking  nearer  the  sea  than  the  others. 
They  looked.  He  was  holding  between  his 
finger  and  thumb  a  small,  spherical  object, 
that  looked  like  a  bluish-black  apple,  stuck 
full  of  pins  of  the  same  color. 

"Bravo!"  shouted  Michali.  "Bravo!  I 
think  it  will  be  our  breakfast.  It  is  an  achi- 

noos" 

"Eat  that?"  asked  Lindbohm,  regarding 
the  object  doubtfully.  "I  would  yust  as  soon 
bite  into  a  live  hedgehog." 

Michali  produced  a  large  pocket  knife  and 
cut  the  creature  in  two.  It  contained  about  a 
spoonful  of  yellow  eggs  and  a  quantity  of  dark, 
muddy  substance.  Carefully  collecting  the 
contents  upon  the  point  of  his  knife,  he  offered 
the  dainty  morsel  to  Lindbohm  and  Curtis, 
who  each  took  a  little  on  the  tip  of  his  finger 
and  tasted. 

"Tastes  like  salt  mud,"  said  the  Swede. 


30  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"Nevertheless,  if  it  will  sustain  life,  and  if 
more  of  them  can  be  found"' — suggested  the 
American. 

Removing  their  shoes  and  arming  them 
selves  with  sticks,  the  three  adventurers  waded 
out  a  little  way  from  shore  and  began  to  poke 
among  the  rocks  for  sea  urchins. 

In  a  short  time  a  pile  of  living  pincushions 
rewarded  their  efforts.  The  spines  moved 
continually,  as  though  rooted  in  loose  skin, 
and  occasionally  one  of  the  queer  creatures 
rolled  slowly  seaward,  walking  on  the  tips. 

"Kind  of  a  globular  centipede,  with  the  legs 
sticking  in  all  directions,  isn't  he?"  observed 
Curtis,  regarding  one  in  motion. 

"You  would  have  thought  so  had  you  on 
one  stepped!"  replied  Michali;  "the  spines  are 
sometimes — what  you  call  him,  poisonous. 
You  wTould  not  have  put  on  your  boot  for 
many  days." 

"They  are  slow  eating,"  said  the  Swede, 
sucking  the  contents  from  the  half  of  one  nois 
ily,  as  though  it  were  a  teacup. 

"Nevertheless,  with  bread  they  are  deli 
cious,"  persisted  Michali. 

"Anything  would  be  delicious  with  bread 
yust  now,"  observed  the  Lieutenant. 

At  the  end  of  the  sandy  beach  a  steep, 


ON  FRIENDL.Y  SHORES  31 

rocky  hill  uprose.  By  the  time  the  three  com 
rades  reached  the  top  of  this,  the  sun  was 
pouring  down  his  fiercest  rays  upon  them, 
and  the  echini  were  tormenting  their  vitals 
with  an  avenging  thirst.  At  their  right  soared 
the  majestic  and  inaccessible  mountains  of 
Crete,  at  the  left  and  far  below  stretched  the 
winsome  sea,  strewn  with  islands  and  flecked 
with  flitting  sails.  They  walked  for  half  an 
hour  over  volcanic  rock,  through  spiteful, 
thorny  shrubs  that  clutched  at  their  ankles 
and  tore  their  clothing,  and  came  at  last  to 
the  brink  of  a  ravine  whose  walls  were  as  per 
pendicular  as  though  they  had  been  cut  with 
a  giant  saw.  In  the  bed,  far  below,  a  moun 
tain  torrent  dashed  eagerly  to  sea,  making 
sheer  leaps  over  smoothly  worn  rocks  or 
swirling  about  in  hollow  basins. 

The  three  looked  down  on  it  and  their  thirst 
grew. 

"I  could  drink  it  all,"  said  Curtis. 

A  swallow  drifted  by  on  slanting  wings, 
darted  to  the  brim  of  the  water-fall  and  leaped 
again  skyward. 

"How  is  a  bird  superior  to  a  man!"  ex 
claimed  Michali. 

"The  wings  of  a  man  are  his  mind,"  replied 
the  Swede.  "The  hedgehogs  are  on  fire  in- 


32  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

side  of  me.  We  must  reach  that  water  to 
quench  them.  It  would  take  the  whole  stream 
to  put  out  the  ones  that  I  ate." 

After  another  hour  they  came  upon  a  goat 
trail  that,  leading  from  above,  ended  abruptly 
and  zigzagged  from  ledge  to  ledge  down  the 
side  of  the  cliff  into  the  stream.  Michali's  de 
light  was  unbounded. 

"Follow  this  trail,"  he  cried,  "and  we  shall 
a  shepherd  find  with  water,  or  may  be  a  vil 
lage,  who  knows?" 

"How  far  is  it?"  asked  Lindbohm. 

"How  do  I  know?  Perhaps  one  mile — per 
haps  ten." 

"If  it  is  two,  the  hedgehogs  will  burn 
through  before  I  get  there,"  replied  Curtis. 
"I'm  going  down." 

"It  is  very  dangerous,"  replied  Michali. 

"We  must  yust  take  our  chances,"  asserted 
Lindbohm. 

The  descent  was  not  so  difficult  as  it  ap 
peared.  Within  twelve  feet  of  the  bottom 
they  found  themselves  on  the  edge  of  a  rock. 
Below  them  the  stream  gurgled  enticingly  be 
tween  banks  of  snowy  sand. 

"And  now?"  asked  Curtis. 

"We  must  yust  yump  and  take  our 
chances,"  replied  Lindbohm.  Instinctivelv 


ON  FRIENDLY  SHORES  33 

seizing  the  tails  of  his  coat  he  held  them  out 
like  wings  and  sprang  into  the  air. 

"Hurrah!"  he  cried,  looking  up.  "It's  all 
right,"  and  throwing  himself  flat  on  his  stom 
ach,  he  sucked  up  long  drafts  of  the  cool,  re 
freshing  water.  In  a  moment  Michali  and 
Curtis  were  lying  beside  him. 

"How  do  the  goats  get  out  of  here?"  asked 
Curtis,  looking  at  the  face  of  the  rock  down 
which  he  had  just  made  a  flying  leap. 

"O,  a  goat  is  like  a  fly;  he  can  skip  up  a  pane 
of  glass,"  replied  Lindbohm. 

"We  must  now  follow  the  stream  up,"  said 
Michali.  "We  shall  surely  find  somebody.  In 
Greece,  where  there  is  water,  men  are  not  far 
away." 

"Bat  we  are  not  in  Greece;"  objected  Lind 
bohm.  The  Cretan's  eyes  blazed. 

"Do  not  say  that  when  you  are  among  my 
countrymen — it  would  not  be  safe." 

Lindbohm  seized  him  by  the  hand. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  cried.  "You  are 
right.  We  are  in  the  very  heart  of  Greece, 
and  we  are  here  to  shoot  down  anybody  who 
says  the  contrary." 

For  some  distance  up  the  ravine  the  path 
was  over  fine  sand  and  easy.  Then  they  came 
to  a  long  stretch  tumbled  full  of  round, 


34          :LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

smooth  bowlders.  Twice  they  were  obliged 
to  climb  steep  rocks  that  extended  from  one 
wall  to  the  other  like  the  face  of  a  dam.  They 
pulled  themselves  up  the  end  of  these  by 
means  of  the  vines  growing  in  the  ravine, 
whose  sides  still  rose  sheer  above  them  to  such 
a  height  that  they  seemed  almost  to  meet  at 
the  top.  Finally,  when  Michali  had  clambered 
before  the  others  to  the  top  of  a  rocky  dam, 
higher  and  steeper  than  usual,  he  gave  a  loud 
shout  of  joy  and  pointed  dramatically  up 
stream.  Lindbohm  followed  agilely,  and  Cur 
tis  with  more  difficulty.  There,  perhaps  a 
mile  away,  was  a  white  village,  sitting  in  an 
amphitheater,  like  an  audience  of  an  ancient 
stadium.  Behind  and  at  either  side,  patches 
of  terraced  vineyards  lay  smiling  in  the  sun, 
and  a  flock  of  goats  was  grazing  on  a  moun 
tain  side,  at  the  edge  of  a  pine  forest.  The 
mountain  stream,  broken  into  half  a  dozen 
rivulets,  wandered  through  the  streets,  and 
then  slid  and  leaped,  like  a  bevy  of  children, 
down  a  tremendous,  steeply  slanting  ledge, 
on  the  edge  of  which  the  hither  houses  peril 
ously  stood. 

"How  do  you  know  it's  not  Turkish?'* 
asked  Lindbohm. 

'There  are  no  minarets,"  replied  Michali. 


ON  FRIENDLY  SHORES  35 

"Why,  of  course!  Any  one  can  tell  a  Greek 
from  a  Turkish  village  as  soon  as  he  sees  it. 
Come  on,  then!" 

Michali  and  the  Lieutenant  sprang  gayly 
forward,  but  soon  they  stopped  and  looked 
around. 

"Are  you  not  coming?"  asked  Michali. 

Curtis  arose  and  sank  down  again.  His 
companions  ran  back 

"What's  the  matter?"  they  asked  in  chorus. 

"I  can  go  no  farther,"  replied  Curtis.  "I 
scratched  my  foot  on  a  stone  when  we  were 
gathering  those  sea  urchins,  and  it's  swelling 
up  in  my  shoe." 

"Why  didn't  you  say  something?"  asked 
Lindbohm. 

"A  man  doesn't  like  to  squeal  about  a 
scratch,  you  know,"  replied  the  American. 
"Pull  the  blamed  shoe  off  for  me,  will  you? 
Hold  on  !  hold  on,  I  tell  you!  Holy  Moses, 
how  that  hurts!" 

"You'll  just  have  to  cut  the  shoe  off,"  sug 
gested  the  Lieutenant. 

"I  don't  like  to  do  that.  What'll  I  do  with 
out  shoes?" 

"Ah,  you  will  wear  the  beautiful  Cretan 
boots!"  cried  Michali  enthusiastically.  "The 
yellow,  soft,  strong  boots.  There  is  no  such 


36  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

leather  in  the  world.  Do  you  not  know  how 
Crete  is  famous  for  the  boots?" 

"That  settles  it,  then,"  exclaimed  Curtis. 
"I  won't  stand  this  torture  any  longer.  Here, 
Lindbohm,  old  man,  just  slit  that  shoe  right 
open,  will  you?" 

The  foot  was  badly  swollen,  and,  being  re 
leased  from  the  confining  shoe,  it  straightway 
puffed  up  to  double  the  normal  size.  Lind 
bohm  and  Michali  each  took  one  of  the  lame 
man's  arms,  and  thus  they  proceeded  quite 
rapidly.  Curtis  held  tightly  to  the  shoe. 

"They  cost  me  eight  dollars,"  he  said,  "and 
it's  a  shame  to  throw  it  away.'* 


CHAPTER  III 
A  COMIC  OPERA  TOWN 

IT  WAS  about  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
when  they  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  tre 
mendous  rocky  dam  which  they  must 
scale  to  reach  the  village.  The  sun  was  shin 
ing  brilliantly,  and  the  dozen  or  more  rivu 
lets  that  were  racing  and  leaping  downward 
glittered  like  molten  silver.  From  the  bed  of 
the  ravine  not  a  house  was  visible.  Lindbohm 
made  a  trumpet  of  his  hands,  and,  looking  up 
ward,  shouted  lustily,  drawing  out  the  last 
syllable  of  the  word  as  though  it  were  a  vocal 
telescope. 

"Hillo!   Hillo!   Hillo!" 

A  girl  came  to  the  edge.  She  appeared  to 
be  standing  on  the  top  of  a  wall.  She  was  float 
ing  in  sunlight;  she  was  glorified.  Tall, 
straight,  deep-bosomed,  she  wore  a  skirt  of 
blue  home-spun  and  a  short  jacket  of  the  same 
material,  with  sleeves  that  were  white  from 
the  elbows  down.  Her  hair,  that  was  in  real 
ity  a  soft  brown,  seemed  of  gold;  one  massive 
strand  fell  over  her  bosom  quite  to  her  knees. 
Her  face  was  oval,  the  features  as  clearly  cut 

37 


38  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

as  those  of  a  goddess.  Her  large  brown  eyes, 
wide  apart  beneath  a  low,  broad  forehead, 
beamed  with  fearless  innocence  and  wonder. 
On  her  left  shoulder  rested  a  huge  earthen 
water  jug,  two-handled,  bulging  near  the  top 
and  dwindling  at  each  end.  Her  right  hand 
held  this  in  place,  and  her  left  rested  on  her 
hip. 

"What  is  it,  strangers?"  she  called  down, 
in  a  winning  voice. 

"Sphakiote,"  said  Michali. 

"What's  sphakiote?"  asked  Lindbohm; 
"Greek  for  goddess?" 

The  Cretan  shouted  back  a  few  words  of  ex 
planation,  and  the  maiden  disappeared.  Ten 
minutes  later  the  edge  was  lined  with  the  citi 
zens  of  Ambellaki;  tow-headed  children,  wom 
en,  old  and  young,  tall  pallikaria,  boys  and 
maidens.  All  the  males,  of  whatever  age,  wore 
high  yellow  boots,  voluminous  blue  trousers 
and  soft  red  fezzes,  that  broke  across  the 
crown  and  fell  backward,  ending  in  a  long 
black  tassel.  The  women  and  girls  were  for 
the  most  part  attired  like  the  maiden  who  had 
first  appeared,  though  several  of  them  wore 
handkerchiefs  tied  about  their  heads. 

"Here's  the  demarch,"  shouted  a  chorus. 

"And  Papa-Maleko,"  cried  the  rest,  as 
though  in  response. 


imagined  that  the  inhabitants  of  some  comic  opera  town 
had  come  out  on  the  walls  to  hold  parley 


A  COMIC  OPERA  TOWN  39 

A  majestic  old  Cretan,  with  two  silver- 
mounted  pistols  and  a  long  pearl-handled 
knife  in  his  belt,  took  his  place  in  the  middle 
of  the  line.  He  was  soon  joined  by  a  priest 
in  venerable  robes  and  tall  hat.  Curtis  im 
agined  that  the  inhabitants  of  some  comic  op 
era  town  had  come  out  on  the  walls  to  hold 
parley  with  himself  and  his  two  friends.  He 
wondered  what  character  he  was,  but  his  foot 
hurt  so  that  he  was  unable  to  make  up  his 
mind. 

"What  is  your  business  with  us?"  asked  the 
demarch,  pompously,  remembering  that  he 
was  acting  in  official  capacity  in  the  presence 
of  his  entire  constituency. 

Michali  explained  at  length.  His  story 
threw  the  listening  Cretans  into  a  state  of 
great  excitement.  Several  of  them  had  lighted 
the  beacon  for  the  guidance  of  the  Holy  Mary. 
Two  or  three  youngsters,  letting  themselves 
down  from  the  edge  of  the  natural  battlement, 
descended  by  means  of  shrubbery  and  jutting1 
stones,  sprawling  in  midair  like  huge  spiders. 
On  reaching  the  bottom,  they  commenced  an 
animated  conversation  with  Michali,  the  up 
shot  of  which  was  that  they  must  all  go  up  as 
the  youngsters  had  just  come  down,  and  that 
it  was  very  easy  if  you  had  courage.  In 


40  MKE  ANOTHER  HEUEN 

proof  of  which,  a  boy  of  fifteen  sprawled  sky 
ward  again,  looking  back  every  moment  to 
laugh  and  shout  "Embtos!" 

"I  can  do  it  easily,"  said  Michali,  with  pride. 
"All  Cretans  can  climb,  if  some  of  them  can 
not  swim.  Can  you  follow  me?" 

"I  can  certainly  try,"  replied  the  Lieutenant. 

Finally  Michali  and  Lindbohm  concluded 
to  mount,  and  consult  with  the  citizens  as  to 
the  best  means  of  assisting  Curtis  to  the  top. 

"There's  some  other  way  to  get  up,"  sug 
gested  the  Cretan,  "only  they  are  suspicious 
of  us  as  yet,  and  will  not  tell." 

Michali,  true  to  his  boast,  climbed  the  face 
of  the  terrace  with  the  greatest  ease.  Lind 
bohm  reminded  Curtis  of  the  frog  and  the 
well  in  the  mental  arithmetic. 

"How  long  will  it  take  him  to  reach  the 
top/'  he  mused,  "if  he  stops  to  rest  during 
every  seventh  minute?" 

He  was  a  genius  at  mental  arithmetic  and 
had  nearly  figured  out  the  proposition  to  sub 
mit  it  to  Lindbohm,  when  he  heard  people 
shouting  above.  Looking  up,  he  perceived 
that  they  were  letting  down  a  long  rope,  and 
that  several  young  Cretans,  accompanied  by 
Michali,  were  coming  with  it. 


A  COMIC  OPERA  TOWN  41 

"Put  it  around  your  waist,"  explained  the 
latter,  "they  will  pull  on  the  other  end,  and  so 
you  will  go  up,  slowly,  slowly.  You  can  use 
your  hands  and  the  good  foot  to  help  and  to 
keep  yourself  away  from  the  stones  and 
bushes." 

Several  pairs  of  strong  hands  pulled  Curtis 
safely  up  the  wall,  and  he  found  himself  in  the 
public  square  of  a  picturesque  little  village. 
White,  two-story  houses  surrounded  an  open 
space,  in  the  midst  of  which  stood  an  immense 
platane  tree.  Under  this  latter  were  four 
rickety  tables  and  a  dozen  or  so  of  chairs,  for 
the  accommodation  of  those  who  chose  to 
enjoy  the  beauties  of  nature  in  the  open  air 
and  partake  of  the  mayor's  coffee  or  masticha. 
The  mayor,  be  it  observed,  was  proprietor 
of  the  only  refectory  the  town  was  large 
enough  to  support.  The  influence  of  the 
saloon  in  politics  is  felt  even  in  the  mountains 
of  Crete. 

Lindbohm  and  the  priest  rushed  forward 
and  assisted  the  American  to  one  of  the  chairs. 
The  mayor  brought  another  and  tenderly 
placed  the  lame  foot  upon  it,  shouting,  mean 
while,  a  storm  of  voluble  orders,  in  a  good-na 
tured,  blustering  voice.  Michali  arrived  and 
interpreted,  for  which  Curtis  was  thankful,  as 


42  iLIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

he  did  not  understand  the  mayor's  gutteral, 
rapid  Greek. 

"He  bids  you  welcome  in  the  name  of  all 
Ambellaki!  He  has  ordered  you  a  glass  of 
masticha.  Ah!  Here  it  comes  now.  You 
are  to  stay  in  the  priest's  house,  who  will  say 
a  prayer  over  your  foot  as  soon  as  he  gets 
you  home." 

The  group  was  by  this  time  surrounded  by 
the  entire  population  of  the  town,  or  as  much 
of  it  as  was  not  out  in  the  vineyards,  or  on  the 
hills  with  the  sheep  and  the  goats.  Curtis  rose 
on  one  leg. 

"Behold  the  human  stork,"  he  exclaimed 
in  English,  because  he  did  not  know  the 
Greek  for  "stork." 

"What  does  he  say?"  asked  the  demarch. 
Michali  explained  the  joke  at  length.  "He 
compares  himself  to  a  stork,  because  a  stork 
usually  stands  on  one  leg.  He,  being  lame, 
and  unable  to  stand  on  both  legs,  rests  his 
entire  weight  on  one,  like  a  stork." 

"But  he  does  not  at  all  resemble  a  stork," 
objected  several  voices. 

"They  say  you  do  not  resemble  a  stork," 
explained  the  interpreter. 

"O,  thanks!  But  I  was  joking.  Don't  you 
Cretans  understand  a  joke?" 


A  COMIC  OPERA  TOWN  43 

"He  says  he  is  joking,  and  he  fears  we  do 
not  understand  a  joke." 

"It  is  a  joke,  my  children,"  cried  the  dem- 
arch,  "an  American  joke,  and  it  is  the  part 
of  hospitality  and  politeness  to  laugh,"  where 
upon  he  smote  the  table  with  his  mighty  palm 
and  burst  into  a  roar  of  Olympian  laughter. 
The  constituency  looked  on  in  silent  amaze 
ment. 

"Laugh,  you  donkeys!"  cried  the  demarch. 
"Laugh,  I  command  you.  Are  we  uncivilized 
like  the  Turks?"  And  he  strode  threateningly 
toward  the  group,  which  broke  in  all  direc 
tions  and  darted  for  cover.  They  laughed, 
however,  long  and  conscientiously  at  first, 
but,  ere  they  had  ceased,  a  genuine  ring  crept 
into  their  mirth.  The  priest  and  the  demarch 
assisted  Curtis  to  his  temporary  residence.  On 
the  way  shockheaded  boys  looked  out  at  him 
from  over  ruined  walls  of  adobe  and  cobble 
stones,  and,  pointing  their  fingers,  cried, 
"There  goes  the  stork!"  and  girls  peeping 
from  behind  doors  or  pushing  their  bloom 
ing  faces  through  screens  of  trellised  vine,  gig 
gled,  "How  are  you,  Mr.  Stork?" 

Curtis'  name  was  seldom  asked  in  the  moun 
tains  of  Crete.  He  was  known  and  is  to  this 
day,  as  Kyrios  Pelargos — Mr.  Stork.  As  soon 


44  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

as  opportunity  presented  he  made  a  new  head 
in  his  note  book  and  entered  the  following 
observation: 

"Character  of  the  modern  Cretans.    First: 
Extraordinary  sense  of  humor. 


CHAPTER  IV 
A    DINNER   OF   HERBS 

THE  house  of  Papa-Maleko  Nicolaides 
consisted  of  three  rooms,  two  down 
stairs    and    one    above.      Curtis    was 
given  a  seat  upon  an  antique  couch  with  a 
wooden  frame,  upon  whose  high  back  was 
carved  the  date,  1855.    Papa-Maleko 's  father- 
in-law  had  received  it  in  that  year  as  part  of 
his  wife's  dowry,  and  had  given  it  in  turn  to  his 
own  daughter.    It  was  a  highly  prized  posses 
sion. 

A  trunk  studded  with  brass-headed  nails, 
several  low  wooden  stools  and  a  bureau  com 
pleted  the  furniture  of  the  apartment. 

The  priest  brought  a  stool  for  Curtis'  foot, 
and  lifted  the  wounded  member  tenderly 
thereon.  The  windows  and  doors  were  dark 
ened  by  the  wondering  population.  Two  or 
three  leading  citizens  pushed  through  into  the 
room  and  commenced  talking  in  chorus.  All 
gesticulated  wildly.  Lindbohm  knelt  down 
and  began  to  remove  the  stocking. 

45 


46  UKE  ANOTHER  HEUEN" 

"I  know  something  of  medicine,"  he  said. 
"Do  I  hurt  you?" 

"Go  on,"  replied  Curtis;  "that's  a  mere  de 
tail." 

Lindbohm  poked  the  puffy  sole  here  and 
there  until  his  patient  gave  a  jump,  as  when 
the  dentist  finds  a  nerve. 

"There  it  is,"  cried  Curtis.  "There's  some 
thing  in  it." 

Further  examination  discovered  the  head 
of  a  black  sliver,  which,  after  several  attempts 
with  a  penknife  blade  and  his  thumbnail,  the 
Lieutenant  succeeded  in  extracting.  The  curi 
osity  of  the  throng,  that  now  packed  the  room 
almost  to  suffocation,  found  expression  in  a 
storm  of  volubility.  The  sliver  was  passed 
from  hand  to  hand.  Curtis  thought  he  de 
tected  again  and  again  the  syllables,  "many, 
many."  He  forgot  they  were  speaking  Greek. 

"Do  they  say  there  are  others?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  replied  Michali;  "they  say  ekaie- 
mene,'  which  means  poor  fellow!" 

"O,  tell  'em  it's  nothing.  Just  a  sliver  in 
my  foot.  I'll  be  all  right  in  an  hour." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  regret  to  say  that  you 
a  sore  foot  may  have  during  two  or  three 
weeks.  It  is  a  spine  of  the  achinoos" 

"O,  the  sea  hedgehog.    Is  it  poisonous?" 


A  DI1STS"ER  OF  HERBS  47 

"Not  exactly  poisonous,  but  it  will  make 
much  irritation.  You  should  have  spoken  of 
him  immediately,  then  it  would  not  have  been 
so  bad.  Did  it  not  hurt  very  bad?" 

"Why,  it  hurt  some,  of  course,  but  I 
thought  I  had  scratched  my  foot  on  a  stone. 
I  wasn't  going  to  delay  the  game  for  a  little 
scratch." 

"Well,  by  Jupiter!"  cried  Lindbohm,  "you 
Americans  have  plenty  of  gravel." 
"'Plenty  of  what?" 

"Plenty  of  gravel.     Isn't  that  what  you  say? 
I  heard  the  expression  once." 
"Perhaps  you  mean  sand?" 
"Maybe  it  is.    At  any  rate,  you've  got  it." 
At    this    moment   a  tremendous   hubbub 
arose.       The   demarch   lunged   through   the 
crowd,  and,  throwing  his  constituents  to  right 
and  left,  made  way  for  the  entry  of  an  old 
woman,  who   stabbed  the  ground  at  every 
step  with  a  long,  quivering  staff.     She  was 
bent  like  the  new  moon,  and  her  wrinkled 
skin"  was  the  color  of  a  mild  cigar.    In  her  left 
hand  she  held,  a  wisp  of  dried  herbs.     The 
cries   of  relief  and  joy  which  her  presence 
evoked  reminded  Curtis  of  the  arrival  of  a 
tardy  fire  engine. 

"Who's  this?"  he  asked. 


48  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"She  is  the  wise  woman,"  replied  Michali. 
"She  will  put  something  on  the  foot  that  will 
cure  him  very  quick." 

Her  orders,  delivered  in  a  shrill  voice,  re 
sulted  in  the  immediate  production  of  warm 
water,  a  towel  and  a  basin.  The  old  woman 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  the  foot.  She 
then  washed  it,  applied  the  leaves  and  bound 
them  on  with  rags. 

"That  does  feel  nice,"  said  Curtis.  "How 
much  ought  I  to  offer  her?" 

"Money?"  asked  Michali. 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"Nothing,  nothing.  She  would  be — what 
you  call  him?  She  would  suffer  in  her  feel 
ings.  You  are  the  guest  of  the  village.  Bid 
me  to  thank  her  for  you." 

"Sure.  Tell  her  she's  a  regular  old  brick. 
Tell  her  my  own  mother  couldn't  have  done 
it  better." 

"Ah,  that,  yes.  I  do  not  know  what  is  that 
brick,  but  the  mother  will  make  her  very 
glad." 

Michali  evidently  knew  what  to  say,  for  she 
patted  Curtis'  head  affectionately,  and  tears 
ran  down  her  cheeks. 

"She  says  she  had  three  boys,  all  big,  strong 


A  DINNER  OF  HERBS  49 

fellows  like  you,  and  the  Turks  have    kill 
them  all,"  explained  Michali. 

"Yes,"  replied  Curtis.     "I  understood  the 
most  of  that  myself.   She  speaks  very  plain." 
The   demarch  now  made  a  brief  speech, 
which  resulted  in  clearing  the  house.    As  the 
Ambellakians  retired,  a  merry  voice  shouted: 
"Perastika,  Kyrie  Pelarge!"  (May  you  re 
cover  soon,  Mr.  Stork)  and  all  took  up  the  re 
frain,  shouting  the  syllables  over  and  over, 
amid  great  laughter.    To  Michali's  unbound 
ed     delight,      Curtis     cried     "Eucharisto!" 
(Thanks.) 

"That  was  splendid,"  said  Michali,  when 
all  had  left  except  himself,  Lindbohm,  the 
demarch  and  Papa-Maleko.  "How  did  you 
understand  what  they  have  said?" 

"I  studied  modern  Greek  in  college  and 
used  to  practice  on  the  Greeks  in  Boston.  But 
I  understand  hardly  anything.  I'm  disgusted 
with  myself.  I  said  "Eucharisto"  because  it 
was  the  only  word  I  could  think  of." 

"O,  you  are  too  modest.  You  answered 
exactly  right.  They  said,  'May  you  get  well 
soon,  Mr.  Stork,'  and  you  answered,  Thank 
you,  thank  you.' ' 

Curtis  took  from  his  pocket  a  book,  badly 
damaged  by  the  bath  .which  it  had  received 


50  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

when  he  had  jumped  for  his  life  from  the  ill- 
fated  "Holy  Mary,"  but  still  serviceable. 

"This  is  a  new  method,  just  out,"  he  ex 
plained,  holding  it  up  to  view.  "O,  I  shall  be 
talking  in  a  day  or  two — I  lose  confidence 
when  there  are  so  many  people  together.  They 
all  jabber  at  once,  and  I  can't  understand  a 
word." 

The  demarch  and  the  priest  examined  with 
great  reverence  the  copy  of  Rangave's  excel 
lent  method. 

Their  ideas  of  books  were  chiefly  associated 
with  the  Holy  Scriptures  and  the  "Lives  of  the 
Saints."  The  mayor  crossed  himself  devoutly, 
but  the  priest  refrained.  He  had  heard  that 
there  were  profane  books. 

Evening  was  now  at  hand,  and  a  girl  came 
in,  bringing  two  lighted  candles  in  tall  brass 
candlesticks.  She  was  the  maiden  whom  the 
shipwrecked  strangers  had  first  seen,  stand 
ing  on  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  with  the  wa 
ter  jug  on  her  shoulder.  Her  height  was 
rather  greater  than  that  of  the  ordinary  wom 
an,  her  figure  was  both  slender  and  athletic. 
There  was  something  antique  and  statuesque 
in  her  attitude  now,  as  she  advanced,  holding 
the  two  tall  candlesticks.  Papa-Maleko  in 
troduced  her  as  his  daughter  and  Michali  ex- 


A  DINNER  OF  HERBS  51 

plained.  She  smiled  sweetly  and  replied  with 
charming  graciousness  of  manner  that  the 
strangers  were  welcome.  There  was  no  sim 
pering  nor  coyness.  She  bore  herself  with 
the  modest  courage  of  innate  nobility  and 
innocence.  The  false  standards  of  so-called 
civilization  were  unknown  to  her.  She  was  a 
daughter  of  the  democracy  of  the  mountains. 
In  her  theory  of  the  world  all  women  were 
virtuous,  and  all  men,  except  Turks,  were 
gentlemen  and  heroes.  When  Curtis  heard 
her  speak  Greek,  he  redoubled  his  resolve  to 
perfect  himself  in  the  language  without  delay. 
He  even  framed  a  sentence  with  which  to 
address  her,  but  a  certain  shyness,  the  fear  of 
exciting  laughter  in  those  beautiful  eyes 
through  some  mistake  in  accent  or  grammar, 
deterred  him. 

Lindbohm,  as  soon  as  he  comprehended 
that  he  was  being  presented  to  the  mistress 
of  the  house,  brought  his  heels  together,  and, 
bowing  low,  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips.  It  was 
a  knightly  and  courtier-like  act,  that  clothed 
him  in  dignity  despite  the  shrunken  and  salt 
incrusted  Prince  Albert  and  the  grotesque 
remnants  of  shoes.  Panayota  flushed  like  a 
peony  and  looked  inquiringly  at  Michali. 

"It  is  the  custom  among  the  gentlemen  in 


52  MICE  ANOTHER  HEJLEN 

his  country,"  replied  the  young  patriot,  who 
had  read  of  similar  scenes  in  foreign  romances. 
"He  salutes  you  as  though  you  were  a  queen." 

"It  is  a  beautiful  custom,"  said  the  demarch. 
"But  is  not  the  American  also  a  gentleman?" 
for  Curtis,  rising  with  difficulty  on  one  leg, 
had  shaken  Panayota  cordially  by  the  hand. 

"O,  the  Americans  are  great  democrats," 
replied  Michali.  "This  is  a  royal  salute,  you 
know,  and  they  know  nothing  about  such 
things." 

The  beautiful  young  girl  brought  in  a  table 
cloth  and  spread  it  on  the  floor.  The  demarch 
stepped  to  the  door,  and,  calling  a  young  boy 
from  the  street,  said  something  to  him  in  a 
low  tone. 

A  noisy  but  good-natured  discussion  imme 
diately  arose  between  the  mayor  on  the  one 
hand  and  Papa-Maleko  and  his  daughter  on 
the  other.  The  priest,  darting  from  the  door, 
called  the  boy  back;  the  mayor,  seizing  Lind- 
bohm's  cane,  threatened  the  boy  with  it,  and 
pushed  the  priest  back  into  the  house. 

Panayota  protested  laughingly,  calling 
upon  the  Virgin  and  crossing  herself. 

"What's  the  row,  anyway?"  asked  Curtis,  to 
his  great  disgust  not  being  able  to  catch 
enough  words  from  the  rapidly-spoken  sen- 


A  DINNER  OF  HERBS  53 

tences  to  be  quite  sure  of  their  meaning.  Pan- 
ayota's  enunciation  was  more  clear  cut  and 
distinct  than  that  of  the  others,  and  from  what 
she  said,  he  concluded  that  the  mayor  was 
ordering  food  from  his  cafe,  a  proceeding 
which  the  priest  and  his  daughter  good-na 
turedly  resented,  as  a  reflection  on  their  own 
hospitality. 

"Seems  like  a  quarrel  between  Church  and 
State,"  observed  Curtis. 

Michali  explained  the  remark,  easily  under 
stood  in  Greek,  and  the  mayor,  shouting  great 
thunder  claps  of  laughter,  patted  Curtis  on 
the  back  and  cried,  "Bravo!  bravo!" 

Panayota  placed  on  the  cloth  a  huge  loaf  of 
brown  bread,  a  plate  of  black  olives  and  a  jug 
of  water.  The  Sphakiotes  do  not  take  kindly 
to  wine.  But  the  feast  was  not  yet  complete; 
a  young  man  entered,  bearing  a  large  bowl  of 
brown  earthenware,  filled  with  something  that 
emitted  a  cloud  of  fragrant  steam;  and  a  plate 
containing  a  large  chunk  of  white  halva.  These 
he  deposited  upon  the  tablecloth,  and  Pana 
yota,  with  a  graceful  wave  of  the  hand  and  a 
dazzling  smile  that  flashed  from  her  white 
teeth  and  beamed  in  her  great  brown  eyes, 
cried  "Oreeste"  The  demarch  sat  down 
on  the  floor,  crossing  his  legs  under  him.  The 


54  UKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

priest  laid  his  hand  upon  Lindbohm's  shoul 
der,  and  pointed  to  the  feast.  The  Swede 
sat  down  as  awkwardly  and  as  many  jointedly 
as  a  camel.  The  floor  seemed  far  away  to  him, 
and  when  he  had  finally  reached  it,  do  what 
he  could  with  his  legs,  his  knees  persisted  in 
rising  on  a  level  with  his  ears.  Curtis  slid  his 
lame  foot  along  until  he  was  sitting  on  the 
floor  with  his  back  against  the  sofa.  The  Cre 
tans  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  which  corre 
sponds  with  our  blessing,  and  Panayota,  who 
was  standing  meekly  by  as  serving  maid,  dis 
tributed  four  forks  among  the  five  diners. 
There  not  being  enough  to  go  around,  the 
demarch  unsheathed  a  long  knife  whose  silver- 
mounted  handle  ended  broadly,  with  two  flar 
ing  ears,  not  unlike  the  butt  of  an  Arab's  gun. 
Cutting  the  bread  with  this,  he  impaled  a 
bounteous  portion  and  offered  it  to  Curtis, 
who  took  it  from  the  point,  saying  "Eucharis- 
to,  polu,  Demarche."  (Many  thanks,  Mr. 
Mayor.) 

"Bravo,  bravo!'*  cried  Michali,  "you're  get 
ting  on.  At  this  rate  you  will  speak  Greek 
by  to-morrow  better  than  I  do!" 

"This  is  truly  wonderful,"  observed  the 
priest,  and  asked  Curtis,  slowly  and  distinctly, 


A  DINNER  OF  HERBS  55 

"How  many  years  have  you  been  in  Greece?" 

"He  says — "  began  Michali. 

"Hold  on,  old  man,  I  understand  him,"  in 
terrupted  Curtis,  and  he  replied,  slowly  but 
correctly,  in  Greek: 

"I  have  been  here  only  two  weeks." 

"This  is  a  miracle,"  roared  the  demarch. 
"We  shall  make  a  Cretan  of  you;  but  let  us 
begin  eating,"  and,  spearing  a  piece  of  bread 
with  his  knife,  he  dipped  it  into  the  soup. 

"You  must  do  as  I  do,"  said  Michali,  dip 
ping  his  own  chunk  and  eating  it  from  his 
fork.  "This  is  lenten  soup — black-eyed  beans 
cooked  with  oil.  Over  this  was  the  contest 
between  Church  and  State.  The  mayor's  cook 
makes  famous  lenten  soup  and  Kyr'  Nikolaki 
wished  to  send  for  some,  but  Papa-Maleko 
desired  the  dinner  himself  to  furnish." 

"Kalo?"  asked  the  mayor,  holding  a  huge 
chunk  of  dripping  bread  suspended  in  midair 
over  the  bowl. 

"He  asks  you  is  it  good?"  explained  Micha 
li  to  Lindbohm. 

"Kalo?    kalo?"  repeated  Kyr'  Nikolaki. 

"Kalo"  replied  Lindbohm. 

A  medium  of  general  communication  was 
now  established.  Papa-Maleko  and  Kyr'  Nik 
olaki  with  nearly  every  bite  smiled  upon  Cur- 


56  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

tis   and   Lindbohm   and   asked   "Kalo?"   and 
they  both  replied,  "Kalo,  kalo" 

After  dinner  the  demarch  departed,  taking 
Michali  with  him,  and  Panayota  made  up  the 
bed  on  the  floor  for  Curtis  and  Lindbohm. 
She  brought  in  a  mattress  from  outdoors, 
which  somewhat  mystified  Curtis  until  he  re 
membered  that  the  stone  stairway  to  the  up 
per  regions  was  built  on  the  outside  of  the 
house.  She  laid  a  sheet  on  the  mattress  and 
over  that  a  quilt  with  a  sheet  sewed  to  it  in 
such  a  manner  that  the  end  was  doubled  over 
and  bore  the  initials,  beautifully  embroidered, 
of  Panayota  Nicolaides, 


CHAPTER  V 
SOME  PICTURES  AND  A  RECITATION 

CURTIS  was  confined  to  his  room  four 
days  with  the  foot,  which  time  he 
devoted  assiduously  to  the  method. 

On  the  fifth  day  he  was  able,  with  the  aid 
of  a  rustic  crutch,  to  get  down  to  the  dem- 
arch's  cafe.  Michali  assisted  him  as  he  hob 
bled  down  the  stony  street,  his  lame  foot 
clumsily  bundled  in  rags  and  swinging  in  the 
air.  Lindbohm  strode  on  ahead,  instinctively 
making  sword-like  passes  with  the  rattan  cane. 
The  latter's  appearance  had  been  much  digni 
fied  by  the  assumption  of  a  swashbuckling 
pair  of  yellow  boots.  He  had  teen  repeatedly 
offered  a  Cretan  fez,  but  he  clung  with  inex 
plicable  affection  to  the  shapeless  and  uneasy 
straw,  still  tethered  to  his  buttonhole. 

"Behold!"  cried  Michali,  as  they  reached  a 
turn  in  the  street  whence  the  view  was  unob 
structed  over  the  tops  of  the  houses.  "Yon 
der  is  the  ravine  where  we  came  up,  and  there 
is  the  sea.  You  will  hardly  find  a  village  in  all 
Greece  from  which  the  sea  is  not  visible." 

The   village,    on    this    fragrant    and   dewy 

57 


58  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

spring  morning,  was  peaceful  and  idyllic. 
Curtis  drew  a  long  breath,  and,  closing 
his  eyes,  imagined  himself  in  ancient  Ar- 
kadia.  On  the  balconies  of  the  neatly  white 
washed  houses  pots  of  basil  and  begonia  had 
been  set  out,  and  formed  green  patches 
against  the  white.  Here  and  there  an  almond 
tree  in  full  bloom  dispensed  wide  sweetness, 
or  shook  its  snowy  petals  to  the  breeze.  The 
site  of  the  town  was  so  uneven  that  it  seemed 
possible  to  step  from  the  threshold  of  some 
of  the  dwellings  on  to  the  red-tiled  roofs  of 
others.  There  was  water  everywhere.  Some 
times  it  ran  through  wooden  troughs  and 
sometimes  it  darted  down  clear  byways  worn 
in  the  blue  rock.  They  walked  beside  a  wall, 
on  which  was  an  aqueduct,  and  they  heard 
the  water  gurgling  above  their  heads. 

The  wall  was  overgrown  with  vines  and  a 
long  line  of  poppies  had  leaped  atop.  Slightly 
bowed  by  the  wind  they  seemed  stooping  to 
drink.  At  the  end  of  the  wall  the  rivulet 
poured  into  a  round  stone  basin,  sunk  into  the 
ground  for  the  convenience  of  animals.  A 
plane  tree  waited  patiently  at  the  basin  that 
the  sheep  and  goats  might  drink  in  the  shade. 
A  wandering  peddler  with  his  donkey  came 
down  a  tributary  street.  The  animal  was 
sandwiched  between  two  boxes,  each  as  large 


SOME  PICTURES  59 

as  himself.    The  street  was  so  steep  that  he 
seemed  to  be  walking  on  his  front  legs. 

The  demarch  was  standing  in  the  door  of 
his  cafe.  A  single  grape  vine,  spreading  out 
on  a  frame,  supported  by  two  posts  and  the 
wall,  made  a  canopy  above  his  head.  The 
leaves  were  new,  and  were  as  pale  green  as 
young  frogs.  Kyrios  Nikolaki  was  an  impos 
ing  figure,  and  doubtless  felt  his  position  in 
the  community,  combining  as  he  did  in  one 
person  the  important  functions  of  mayor,  gro 
cer,  saloon  keeper  and  banker.  He  stood 
now,  with  his  hairy  hands  crossed  over  his 
semi-spherical  stomach,  watching  the  advent 
of  his  guests  and  smiling  benignly.  As  Cur 
tis  glanced  at  the  tall  yellow  boots,  the  volum 
inous  breeches,  the  double-breasted  vest  with 
woolen  balls  for  buttons,  and  the  rakish  fez, 
he  thought  for  the  first  time  since  landing  in 
Crete  of  his  camera.  That  had  gone  down 
with  the  "Holy  Mary."  The  demarch  was 
clean-shaven,  with  the  exception  of  his  gray 
mustache,  and  his  shirtsleeves  were  fresh  from 
the  iron.  His  cheeks  were  florid  with  good 
living,  and  he  would  have  been  a  comely  man 
save  for  the  fact  that  his  lower  lids  had  fallen 
a  little,  disclosing  a  red  and  raw  looking  spot 
under  each  eye. 


60  XIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"Welcome!  welcome!"  he  cried,  as  the  party 
arrived.  "How  is  Mr.  Stork  and  the  Lieuten 
ant?  And  Kyr'  Michali?  And  where  is  the 
Church  this  morning?  Why  did  you  not  bring 
him  along,  that  he  might  take  a  drink  of  cog 
nac  with  the  State?" 

"I  am  very  well,"  replied  Curtis  in  Greek. 
"We  did  not  bring  the  Church,  because  we 
did  not  see  him." 

Curtis  had  made  great  progress  in  Pana- 
yota's  language.  He  had  found  the  girl  very 
willing  to  talk  with  him  and  not  a  little  inter 
ested  in  his  efforts  to  acquire  fluency  in  her 
native  tongue.  He  had  also  made  this  dis 
covery,  which  pleased  him  greatly,  that  the 
Greek  of  these  sturdy  mountaineers  was  easier 
for  him  than  that  of  Athens,  as  it  possessed  a 
more  archaic  flavor. 

"Marvelous!  marvelous!"  shouted  the  dem- 
arch.  ^  "Your  progress  is  wonderful.  I  ob 
serve  it  every  day." 

"Ah,  this  is  comfortable,"  said  Curtis,  sit 
ting  on  a  bench  with  his  back  against  the 
plane  tree.  "Are  all  the  Cretan  villages  as 
pretty  as  this?" 

"Some  are  much  more  beautiful,"  cried 
Michali.  "That  is,  those  which  the  Turks 
have  not  destroyed.  But  this  village  is  not  so 


SOME  PICTURES  6l 

easy  for  them  to  reach.  You  see  how  hard 
it  is  from  the  sea  to  come.  And  behold,  we 
have  all  around  us  a  circle  of  mountains." 

"An  enemy  couldn't  get  in  at  all,"  said 
Lindbohm,  casting  an  experienced  eye  about. 
He  was  striding  nervously  to  and  fro,  fencing 
with  an  imaginary  opponent. 

"Yes,  one  way.  There  is,  wrhat  you  call  it 
—a  cut  in  the  hill—" 

"A  ravine,"  suggested  Curtis. 

"Yes,  I  think  so.  A  ravine,  very  deep  and 
very  crooked.  But  the  shepherds  watch  him 
all  the  time." 

The  conversation  did  not  progress  rapidly, 
because  Greek  politeness  demanded  that 
Michali  translate  every  word  for  the  demarch, 
whose  own  remarks,  moreover,  it  was  neces 
sary  to  turn  into  English. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  the  inside  of  my 
store?"  asked  the  latter,  a  lull  in  the  conver 
sation  making  him  feel  that  he  must  do  some 
thing  for  the  entertainment  of  his  guests. 
Michali  had  again  described  the  shipwreck, 
the  English  had  been  denounced  as  barbar 
ians,  worse  than  the  Turks,  and  the  demarch 
had  told  a  story  of  a  famous  battle  in  which 
thirty  Cretans  slew  two  hundred  Moham 
medans,  on  which  occasion  he  himself  had  led 


62  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

the  victorious  party.  There  seemed  to  be 
nothing  more  to  talk  about. 

"I  have  some  very  fine  pictures  inside," 
said  the  mayor.  "Come,  Lieutenant,  Mr. 
Stork,  Michali." 

"Where  are  the  pictures?"  asked  Curtis, 
when  they  had  entered,  hoping  that  his  host 
possessed  a  collection  of  Byzantine,  or  per 
haps  Venetian,  works  of  art.  Kyr'  Nikolaki 
glanced  about  the  room  and  waved  his  hand 
majestically. 

"They  are  hanging  on  the  walls,"  he  re 
plied. 

Borrowing  Lindbohm's  cane,  he  made  the 
circuit  of  the  room,  pointing  to  the  wretched 
prints  that  were  hung  high  up,  close  to  the 
ceiling. 

"This,"  he  explained,  "is  Marko  Botsares, 
a  famous  Greek  patriot  of  the  war  of  indepen 
dence.  Have  you  ever  heard  of  him?" 

"Heard  of  him!"  cried  Curtis. 

"At  midnight  in  his  guarded  tent 
The  Turk  lay  dreaming  of  the  hour, 

When  Greece,  her  knee  in  suppliance  bent 
Should  tremble  at  his  power!" 

"And  this  is  Ali  Pasha,  with  his  head  in  the 
lap  of  his  favorite  wife,"  continued  the  mayor. 
"He  lived  at  Janina.  He  was  finally  killed, 


SOME  PICTURES  63 

as  he  deserved  to  be.  He  terrified  Al 
bania,  Epirus  and  a  part  of  Macedonia,  but 
the  Suliotes  he  could  not  terrify.  Their 
women  preferred  to  die  rather  than  submit  to 
Turks."  Kyr'  Nikolaki  was  reciting,  after  the 
manner  of  a  lecturer,  one  of  those  glorious 
incidents  in  modern  Greek  history  which  all 
Greeks  know  by  heart. 

"Why  do  you  go  to  Suli  for  an  example  of 
heroism?"  cried  Michali,  springing  to  his  feet, 
his  eyes  blazing  with  excitement.  "He  will 
tell  you  of  the  deeds  of  the  brave  Suliote 
women,  and  how  they  blew  themselves  up 
with  their  own  powder,  or  danced,  sing 
ing,  over  the  edge  of  one  cliff,  to  save  their 
honor.  Why  shall  he  not  tell  rather  of  the 
convent  of  Arkadia?"  , 

"Ah,  certainly,  certainly,  tell  them  of  Ar 
kadia,"  cried  the  demarch,  catching  the  name. 

"It  was  Mustapha  Pasha,"  continued 
Michali,  speaking  rapidly  despite  his  un- 
familiarity  with  English.  His  fists  were 
clenched,  and  he  jerked  out  the  words  by  ner 
vously  smiting  the  air,  as  though  beating  on 
an  invisible  table. 

"He  had  come  with  very  many  Turks  to 
Retimo.  He  kills,  he  burns.  The  women, 
and  the  small  children,  they  cannot  climb 


64  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

over  the  hills  and  sleep  on  the  rocks.  They 
take  asylum  in  the  monastery  of  Arkadia,  on 
south  side  of  Mt.  Ida.  The  old  men  go,  too. 
Mustapha,  he  puts  cannon  on  mountains,  all 
around  and  fires  down  from  above.  By  and 
by,  he  beats  down  the  walls,  and  his  army 
rush  into  the  court.  He  say  'Yield.'  The 
women,  the  old  men,  the  friars,  they  say  'No, 
we  die!'  and  they  shoot  from  the  windows. 
O,  they  kill  very  many  Turks.  Then  Mus- 
tapha  bring  in  his  cannon,  and  he  commence 
shoot  at  walls  of  building.  Pretty  soon  he 
will  make  a  hole.  Father  Gabriel,  the  Hegou- 
menos,  he  see  this.  He  shout  through  the 
roar  of  the  cannon:  'Shall  we  die,  my  chil 
dren,  or  shall  we  yield?'  They  say  all  together 
' We  shall  die!'" 

Lindbohm  was  striding  up  and  down  before 
the  speaker.  The  demarch  still  held  the  rat 
tan  cane,  but  the  Lieutenant  was  making  home 
thrusts  with  his  closed  fist. 

"Father  Gabriel  he  stretch  out  his  arms. 
They  all  fall  on  their  knees,  the  women,  the 
children,  the  old  men.  The  Hegoumenos 
blesses  them;  he  say,  'Father,  into  thy  hands  I 
commit  these  souls!'  Then  he  goes  down  cel 
lar.  They  know  where  he  gone.  The  women 
hug  their  babies  tight  and  begin  to  sing  the 


SOME  PICTURES  65 

hymn  of  liberty,  and  the  men  join  in.  They 
are  all  looking  to  the  sky  and  chanting — "  and 
jMichali  sang: 

'"From  the  bones  of  the  Greeks  upspringing, 

Who  died  thatVe  might  be  free, 
And  the  strength  of  thy  strong  youth  bringing— 
Hail,  Liberty,  Hail  to  thee! 

;  "Every  moment  a  bullet  comes  through  and 
kills  somebody,  but  they  know  nothing,  now, 
except  the  song  'Hail,  Liberty/  Then  the 
wall  falls  and  in  rush  the  Turks  and  begin  to 
kill,  when  'boom'  the  powder  magazine  roars 
like  one  gun,  and  all  are  dead — Greeks, 
: Turks,  all  dead — ah!  all  dead  together! — two 
hundred  Turks!'* 

But  the  demarch, "  not  understanding  all 
.this,  was  unable  to  enter  fully  into  the  en 
thusiasm  of  the  others.  He  was  anxious  to 
continue  with  his  picture  gallery. 

"This,"  he  said,  "is  the  Lordos  Beeron, 
who,  being  descended  from  the  ancient 
Greeks,  came  over  to  this  country  to  fight 
for  his  native  land." 

Curtis,  despite  his  enthusiasm  for  Byron, 
did  not  rise.  He  had  seen  that  woodcut  be 
fore,  in  Athens.  It  represented  the  youthful 
poet  wearing  a  brass  cavalry  helmet  with  a 


66  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

sublime  plume.  This  is  the  Byron  honored 
among  the  uneducated  classes  in  Greece,  who 
know  him  as  soldier  and  not  as  poet.  With 
nodding  plume  and  warlike  eye  he  frowns  ter 
ribly  down  from  the  dingy  walls  of  a  thousand 
khans  and  wayside  inns.  In  this  apotheosis 
he  no  longer  holds  high  converse  with  Shelley 
and  Tom  Moore;  he  hobnobs  with  Ypsilanti, 
Botsares  and  Admiral  Miaoules. 

"This,"  continued  Kyr'  Nikolaki,  "is  the 
most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world.  I  have 
never  found  any  one  who  knew  her  name, 
but  all  agree  that  she  is  a  Greek — probably  a 
Sphakiote." 

Lindbohm  and  Michali  gazed  earnestly  at 
the  cheap  engraving,  but  no  name  was  visible. 
Curtis  arose,  and,  placing  his  hand  on  the 
mayor's  shoulder,  hopped  across  the  room. 

"An  American  actress,  by  Jove!"  he  ex 
claimed.  "She's  a  beauty,  indeed,  but  she's 
an  American,  old  man."  And  in  Greek  to  the 
mayor:  "She's  an  American — ah — I  can't 
think  of  the  word  for  'actor.'  Michali,  tell 
him  her  picture  is  to  be  found  in  every  nook 
and  cranny  of  the  civilized  globe.  I  can't  say 
'nook'  and  'cranny'  in  Greek." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  FIRST  OF  MAY 

ALL  the  morning  of  April  thirtieth  Cur 
tis  saw  nothing  of  Panayota.  She  was 
gone  into  the  fields  and  upon  the  hill 
sides  with  the  other  women  and  the  children  of 
the  village  to  gather  flowers  for  the  May-day 
festival.  Late  in  the  afternoon  the  whole  town 
set  out  for  Hepta-Miloi,  or  Seven-Mills,  the 
place  in  the  mountains  where,  year  after  year, 
they  were  accustomed  to  hold  this  innocent 
and  beautiful  celebration,  one  of  the  most 
fragrant  and  lovely  of  all  the  inheritances 
from  the  days  of  the  aesthetic  old  gods. 
Laughing,  singing,  shouting  merry  sallies 
and  replies,  the  procession  scrambled  up  the 
stony,  winding  street  of  the  village,  laden  with 
baskets  and  gayly  colored  bags  filled  with  pro 
visions.  Everybody,  too,  carried  flowers — 
flowers  in  baskets,  in  aprons,  in  the  hands. 
There  were  donkeys  and  dogs  innumerable. 
Some  of  the  donkeys  carried  tables  strapped 
to  their  backs,  with  the  four  legs  sticking  up 
into  the  air,  and  giving  the  impression  that, 
if  one  of  the  animals  should  keel  a  somerset 

67 


68  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

into  a  ravine,  he  would  be  sure  to  light  upon 
one  or  the  other  of  his  two  sets  of  feet.  Upon 
others  of  these  nodding,  shambling  little  ani 
mals  rode  such  of  the  villagers  as  could  not 
make  so  arduous  a  journey  on  foot:  a  pic 
turesque  old  man  in  holiday  costume,  resplen 
dent  in  bright,  new  fez,  ruffled  shirt  and 
gaudy  sash;  here  and  there  an  old  woman 
who  had  made  the  same  journey  every  year 
for  the  last  forty  years;  and  several  strings 
of  small  children,  four  and  five  on  a  donkey's 
backbone,  like  monkeys  on  a  limb  or  kidneys 
on  a  spit.  The  demarch,  in  accordance  with 
the  dignity  of  his  office,  rode  at  the  head  of 
the  procession,  side  by  side,  when  the  road 
was  not  too  narrow,  with  Papa-Maleko, 
whose  animal  was  nearly  covered  by  his  flow 
ing  black  robe,  and  who  held  an  umbrella 
over  his  tall  hat.  Lindbohm  had  refused  the 
luxury  of  a  mount  and  strode  sturdily  along 
with  his  hand  upon  Curtis'  saddle.  Up  and 
up  they  climbed  beyond  the  last  plumed  out 
posts  of  olive  groves  into  the  kingdom  of  the 
pines.  At  times  they  walked  by  the  side  of 
a  deep  chasm  at  whose  bottom  swirled,  darted 
and  leapt  a  stream  of  molten  silver  or  of  ink, 
according  as  it  flashed  in  the  setting  sun  or 
crept  beneath  the  shadow  of  dank  ferns  or 


THE  FIRST  OF  MAY  69 

deep  green  trees.  At  such  times  Curtis' 
moth-eaten,  blue-gray  beast  walked  upon  the 
ticklish,  imminent  edge  of  destruction,  loosen 
ing  rocks  and  bits  of  earth  that  went  scurry 
ing  into  the  waters  far  below.  Entreaty, 
threats,  blows  upon  the  side  of  the  head  with 
the  rope  that  did  service  as  a  bridle,  were  of 
no  effect  to  make  him  walk  elsewhere. 

"Look  here,  Lindbohm,"  cried  Curtis, 
"I've  told  you  my  address.  If  I  plunge  down 
yonder  giddy  height,  write  to  my  governor, 
will  you?  And  don't  trouble  to  pick  up  the 
pieces." 

"What's  the  matter?"  shouted  the  demarch, 
looking  back. 

"This  donkey  will  surely  fall  with  me." 

"Bah!  Let  him  have  his  head.  He  knows 
his  business.  No  donkey  ever  falls." 

"What  if  he  does?  Cannot  a  stork  fly?" 
asked  a  black-eyed,  roguish  maiden,  who  pos 
sibly  thought  that  the  American  could  learn 
good  Greek  from  more  than  one  pair  of  lips. 
This  sally  evoked  such  an  inordinate  peal  of 
good-natured  laughter  that  Curtis  was  unable 
to  think  of  an  appropriate  reply,  and  contented 
himself  with  pulling  a  rose  from  the  basket 
hanging  at  his  saddle  and  throwing  it  at  the 
saucy  girl. 


TO  I/TKE  ANOTHER  HEI/EN 

In  tjie  purple  twilight  they  came  in  sight 
of  the  first  of  the  seven  mills.  A  tall,  slanting 
barrel  of  masonry  received  the  water  that 
turned  the  stone  wheel  that  lay  upon  its  face 
in  a  small  building  covered  with  reddish 
brown  tiles.  The  miller  and  his  wife,  dusty 
as  moths,  came  out  to  greet  the  merry  throng 
that  poured  into  his  little  plateau  with  much 
shouting  and  singing  and  strumming  of 
guitars.  Two  or  three  shock-headed  young 
sters  peeped  from  behind  the  building,  and  a 
girl,  probably  three  years  old,  clothed  only  in 
a  flour  sack  that  reached  to  the  middle  of  her 
stomach,  ran,  like  a  frightened  chicken,  to 
cover  in  the  folds  of  her  mother's  dress.  The 
child  was  glowing  with  health  and  beautiful 
as  an  infant  Dionysus  from  the  broken  arm  of 
a  Hermes  carved  by  Praxiteles  himself.  And 
now  they  were  come  into  a  region  of  rank, 
water-loving  trees,  great  ferns  and  streams  of 
water  that  slipped  smoothly  and  silently 
through  square  sluices  of  white  masonry.  The 
mills  were  close,  together.  At  the  fourth  in 
number  they  stopped  and  found  that  brave 
preparation  had  already  been  made.  The 
plateau  before  the  mill-house  was  here  larger 
than  ordinary  and  in  its  midst  grew  a  wide- 
spreading  oak  from  a  lower  branch  of  which 


THE  FIRST  OF  MAY  71 

hung  a  powerful  lamp,  protected  from  the 
wind  by  a  glass  cage.  At  the  foot  of  a  shield 
ing  wall  of  rock,  several  lambs  were  fragrantly 
roasting  upon  long  wooden  spits,  and  by  each 
an  old  man  squatted,  so  intent  upon  turning 
the  carcass  that  he  scarcely  looked  up  to  wel 
come  the  gay  and  noisy  villagers. 

"How  go  the  lambs,  Barba  Yanne?" 
"Is  it  tender,  think  you,  Barba  Spiro?" 
"Are  they  nearly  done,  Kosta?    Holy  Vir 
gin,  what  an  appetite  I've  got!" 
"And  I!" 
"And  I!" 

With  a  perfect  babble  of  such  exclamations, 
mingled  with  much  laughter,  and  many 
shouted  orders  and  directions,  Ambellaki 
took  possession  of  the  place  where  it  had 
elected  to  outwear  the  night  with  song  and 
feasting  and  to  welcome  the  First  of  May. 
The  tables  were  unstrapped  from  the  backs 
of  the  donkeys  and  set  in  line.  Cloths  were 
spread  and  candles  were  lighted  in  candle 
sticks  surmounted  by  protecting  glass  globes. 
Chairs  were  taken  down  from  others  of  the 
donkeys,  and  two  or  three  long  benches  were 
produced  by  the  miller.  A  dozen  pairs  of 
strong  hands  were  extended  to  Curtis  and  he 


72  UKE  ANOTHER  HEJLEN 

was  assisted  from  the  back  of  his  wilful  beast 
to  a  comfortable  seat. 

"Whew!  I'm  glad  to  get  down  from  there/' 
he  exclaimed  to  Lindbohm.  "I  think  I'll  stay 
here  till  my  foot  gets  well  and  walk  back. 
Looks  jolly,  doesn't  it?  And  how  good 
those  lambs  smell!  I  believe  I  could  eat  one 
all  by  myself." 

Plates,  bottles  containing  oil  floating  upon 
vinegar,  decanters  of  wine,  great  piles  of  crisp 
salad,  loaves  of  brown  bread,  sardellas  ar 
ranged  upon  plates  like  the  spokes  of  a  wheel, 
tiny  snow  drifts  of  country  cheese — began  to 
appear  upon  the  table.  Lindbohm  entered 
into  the  spirit  of  the  occasion  with  genial  en 
thusiasm.  Although  he  could  not  speak  a 
word  of  Greek,  he  blundered  everywhere, 
eager  to  assist.  He  lifted  the  children  from 
the  donkeys,  pulled  plates  and  provisions 
from  the  baskets,  and  washed  the  long  tender 
lettuce  at  a  place  where  the  water  leapt  from 
one  conduit  to  another.  All  this  time  the 
old  men  were  patiently  turning  the  lambs. 
Every  now  and  then  one  of  them  would  dip 
half  a  lemon  into  a  plate  of  melted  butter  and 
rub  it  over  the  brown,  sizzling  flesh.  Beneath 
each  of  the  lambs  was  a  shallow  bed  of  ashes. 
The  coals  that  glowed  there  were  not  visible, 


THE  FIRST  OF  MAY  73 

for,  in  roasting  meat  h  la  palikari,  the 
best  effects  are  obtained  if  it  be  slowly 
done.  The  proper  roasting  of  a  lamb 
is  a  matter  of  supreme  importance.  Repu 
tations  are  won  thereby  in  a  single 
day,  and  as  easily  lost.  The  meat  must 
be  done  clear  through,  evenly  and  just  to  a 
turn — not  one  turn  of  the  spit  too  many  nor 
too  few;  it  must  be  so  tender  that  it  is  just 
ready  to  drop  from  the  bone,  and  have  that 
delicious  flavor  which  is  imparted  from  the 
coals,  of  the  fragrant  wild  thyme,  but  it  must 
not  taste  smoky.  Verily  a  great  art  this,  and 
the  old  men  who  sat  squat  at  the  cranks  of 
the  spits  had  no  time  for  social  distractions. 
Everything  was  ready  now  except  the  lambs, 
and  a  great  silence  fell  upon  .the  company. 
One  young  fellow,  who  offered  to  lay  a  small 
wager  that  Barba  Yanne  would  be  the  first 
man  ready,  was  sternly  rebuked  by  the  priest: 

"Silence!  do  you  not  know  that  this  is  the 
critical  moment,  and  you  may  spoil  every 
thing  by  distracting  their  attention?" 

So  they  waited  for  a  seeming  eternity, 
sniffing  the  delicious  aroma  and  watching  the 
appetizing  contest  with  hungry  eyes.  At 
last  the  young  man  of  the  wager  broke  the 
spell  by  crying: 


74  L.IKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"Na!  I  should  have  won."  For  Barba 
Yanne  was  indeed  rising  slowly  to  his  feet, 
painfully  straightening  out  the  hinges  of  his 
aged  knees. 

"Praise  God!"  shouted  a  chorus  of  voices. 

"Do  you  not  see  that  it  is  ready?"  asked 
Barba  Yanne  reproachfully. 

"O,  yes!"  exclaimed  the  demarch,  "we 
must  take  it  up.  If  it  stays  one  instant  over 
time  on  the  fire  the  delicate  flavor  will  be 
ruined." 

Half  a  dozen  men  sprang  towards  the  fire, 
but  Lindbohm,  comprehending  the  action, 
was  before  them  all.  Lifting  the  lamb  by  one 
end  of  the  spit,  he  advanced  towards  the 
tables,  and  looked  inquiringly  about. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  it?"  he  asked  Michali. 
"There  is  no  plate  big  enough,  and  if  I  lay 
it  on  the  table  it  will  spoil  the  cloth." 

Shouts  of  laughter  greeted  the  Swede's  evi 
dent  perplexity,  and  even  the  bare  teeth  of 
the  spitted  animal  seemed  grinning  at  him  in 
derision. 

"But  you  do  not  put  it  on  the  table,"  cried 
Michali  running  to  his  assistance.  "You  stick 
the  sharp  end  of  the  spit  in  the  ground  and 
stand  it  up  by  the  side  of  the  tree.  So — that's 
right.  Head  up." 


THE  FIKST  OF  MAY  75 

The  demarch  now  approached  Lindbohm 
and  laughingly  offered  him  a  Cretan  knife  and 
a  huge  fork. 

"He  wants  you  to  carve,"  explained  Mich- 
ali.  "It  is  a  great  honor." 

"No!  no!"  cried  the  Swede,  pushing  the 
demarch  playfully  back.  "I  do  not  know 
how.  Besides,  I  am  too  weak  from  hunger. 
Moreover,  I  haven't  the  time."  And  he  seated 
himself  resolutely  at  the  table.  The  demarch 
therefore  carved,  and  piled  the  meat  upon 
plates  which  the  girls  held  for  him.  Before  he 
had  finished,  Barba  Spiro  brought  his  lamb 
and  solemnly  stuck  it  up  by  its  partly  carved 
mate. 

"Shall  I  cut  up  this  one,  too?"  asked  Kyr' 
Nikolaki;  he  had  finished  with  number  one. 
"Or  shall  we  eat  what  we  have  first?" 

"We  will  begin  on  this  one,"  said  the  priest, 
"and  I  will  carve  the  second."  After  a  playful 
struggle  he  dispossessed  the  mayor  of  the 
knife  and  fork  and  led  him  to  the  head  of  the 
table.  Then  the  good  priest  reverently  bent 
his  head  and  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and 
all  of  his  flock  followed  his  example.  Even 
Lindbohm  and  Curtis,  watching  carefully,  did 
as  the  others.  And  now  the  feast  was  on  in 
earnest,  silently  at  first,  till  the  sharpest  pangs 


76  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

of  hunger  were  appeased,  with  song  and 
laughter  later  in  its  course.  The  three  guests 
and  the  older  members  of  the  community  sat 
at  the  table.  The  others  and  the  children 
found  seats  upon  the  ground,  in  the  doorway 
of  the  mill-house,  on  the  wrater  troughs.  Con 
versation  began  in  full-mouthed  remarks  as 
to  the  quality  of  the  lamb. 

"This  is  marvellous!" 

"A  masterpiece." 

"Tasty." 

"A  miracle.  Done  just  to  a  turn.  Neither 
too  much  nor  too  little." 

"Bravo,  Barba  Yanne,"  said  the  mayor,  in 
judicial  tones,  raising  his  glass  meanwhile. 

"Barba  Yanne!  Barba  Yanne!"  shouted 
the  entire  board,  and  there  was  a  great  clink 
ing  of  glasses.  The  old  man  swelled  and 
flushed  with  pleasure. 

"I  ought  to  know  how  to  roast  a  lamb,"  he 
said.  "I  have  done  it  this  thirty  years." 

A  girl  brought  the  head  of  Barba  Spiro's 
lamb  and  laid  it  before  the  demarch,  who 
plucked  out  one  of  the  eyes  with  a  fork  and 
passed  the  morsel  to  Curtis,  who  took  it  and 
looked  inquiringly  at  Michali. 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  it?"  he  asked. 

"Eat  it.  It  is  the  most  delicate  tid-bit  of 
the  whole  lamb — sweet,  juicy,  delicious." 


THE  FIRST  OF  MAY  77 

'I've  no  doubt  it's  juicy,"  replied  Curtis, 
"but  I  couldn't  eat  it  to  save  my  life.  It  looks 
as  though  it  could  see.  Excuse  me,  Kyr' 
Demarche,"  he  continued  in  Greek,  "I  do  not 
care  for  the  eye.  If  you  will  give  me  a  little 
more  of  the  meat,  please — "  and  he  passed  his 
plate. 

"Not  like  the  eye!"  shouted  everybody  in 
astonishment.  Lindbohm  took  the  succulent 
morsel  from  Curtis'  hand,  and  swallowed  it 
with  a  loud  sipping  sound,  as  though  it  were 
an  oyster. 

"Kalo!  kalo!"  he  exclaimed,  smacking  his 
lips. 

And  so  the  feast  wore  on.  When  it  was 
not  possible  for  anybody  to  eat  another 
mouthful,  Turkish  coffee  wa,s  prepared  over 
the  miller's  foufous,  two  or  three  little  porta 
ble  stoves,  circular  and  made  of  sheet  iron; 
and  cigarettes  were  lighted.  Under  the 
soothing  influence  of  the  mild  Cretan  tobacco 
silence  fell  again,  disturbed  only  by  the  soft 
splashing  of  waters.  Through  a  rift  in  the 
branches  of  the  giant  oak  Curtis  could  see  the 
bright,  silver  bow  of  the  new  moon,  and,  far 
below,  a  glittering  star,  like  the  tip  of  an  ar 
row  shot  athwart  the  night.  The  girls  were 
tumbling  the  flowers  into  a  pile  beneath  the 


78  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

lamp:  bright  red  geraniums,  clusters  of  the 
fragrant  heliotrope,  April  roses,  small,  red  and 
very  sweet;  aromatic  basil,  myrtle  with  its 
bridal  green.  Then  they  sat  down  about  the 
heap  and  began  to  weave  garlands,  using  the 
myrtle  as  a  background  for  the  pied  coloring 
of  the  blossoms.  A  nightingale  sang  some 
where  among  the  trees  behind  the  old  mill, 
the  waters  never  ceased  to  murmur  and  gur 
gle  in  the  moonlight,  and  a  faint  breeze  from 
the  far  sea  brought  a  message  of  cherry  trees 
in  bloom.  A  young  man  sitting  on  the 
ground  with  his  back  against  the  tree  played 
a  few  chords  upon  a  guitar,  and  sang,  with 
much  feeling,  one  line  of  a  couplet: 
"My  little  angel,  sugar  sweet,  angelic  honey  maiden" — 

That  he  was  not  improvising  was  evident 
from  the  fact  that  all  the  Greeks  present 
joined  him  in  the  second  line: 

"Oh  sweeter  than  cold  water  is,  that  angels  drink  in 
Eden!" 

For  several  moments  he  strummed  the  strings 
softly  and  then  sang: 

"If  I  should  die  at  last  of  love,  my  grave  with  basil 
cover;" — 

and  again  came  the  response, 

"And  when  you  water  it  perchance  you'll  weep  for 
your  poor  lover!" 


THE  FIRST  OF  MAY  79 

The  words  even  in  Greek  did  not  mean 
much    but  they   sounded  very  beautiful  to 
those  simple  peasants,  for  they  were  asso 
ciated  with  many  such  scenes  as  this;  they 
carried  the  memories  of  some  back  to  child 
hood,  of  others  perhaps  to  their  wedding  day. 
They  made  Panayota  think  of  the  little  cot 
tage  among  the  Sphakiote  mountains,  and 
of  her  mother   singing  as  she  paddled  the 
white  clothes  at  the  brook.    The  words  con 
tained  the  untranslatable  spirit  of  poetry,  the 
power  to  move  the  heart  by  association  rather 
than  by  their  meaning. 

Some  one  proposed  a  dance;  one  by  one 
the   sturdy   mountaineers   took   their  places 
in  a  line  and  soon,  hands  linked,  they  were 
bounding  beneath  the  flickering  lamp  in  the 
wild  Pyrrhic.    Loud  calls  were  made  for  dif 
ferent  members  of  the  company,  famous^  as 
leaders,  and  these  led  the  line  in  turn,  vying 
with  one  another  in  difficulty  of  steps  exe 
cuted.    When  Lindbohm  arose  from  his  seat 
and  took  his  place  at  the  tail  of  the  line,  he 
was  welcomed  with  shouts  of  "Bravo!  bravo!" 
He  hadobserved  the  simpler  steps  of  the  minor 
performers   carefully,   and   acquitted   himself 
with  so  much  credit,  that  the  girls,  their  hands 
full  of  flowers  and  half-finished  wreaths,  arose 


80  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

and  came  forward,  clapping  their  palms  and 
shrieking  with  delight.  And  when  the  hand 
kerchief  was  handed  to  him  and  he  was 
motioned  to  the  head  of  the  line,  he  did  not 
refuse,  but  leapt  into  the  air,  whirled  about 
under  the  arm  of  his  nearest  neighbor, 
snapped  his  fingers  in  time  to  the  music  and 
cut  other  terpsichorean  pranks,  to  every 
body's  intense  delight. 

But  dancing  is  hard  work,  and  even  youth 
will  tire.  The  last  capable  leader  had  done 
his  part,  and  even  the  girls,  with  much 
laughter  and  many  feminine  shrieks  and  pro 
tests,  had  been  pulled  to  their  feet  and  given 
a  turn,  when  Michali  was  asked  to  tell  again 
the  story  of  the  shipwreck,  as  many  there 
present  had  only  heard  it  at  second  hand.  He 
complied,  and  his  vivid  and  picturesque  nar 
rative  held  his  audience  in  rapt  attention. 
When  he  had  finished  many  were  fairly  carried 
away  with  excitement,  and  a  loud-voiced  and 
indignant  clamor  arose  concerning  the  state 
of  Crete,  the  action  of  the  powers  and  mat 
ters  of  like  import. 

"Silence!  silence!"  cried  the  mayor,  rising 
to  his  feet  and  hammering  on  the  table. 
"These  are  not  matters  for  the  May  festival. 
Our  village,  moreover,  is  in  no  danger  from 


THE  FIRST  OF  MAY  8l 

the  Turks.  We  have  always  dwelt  quietly 
and  peacefully  behind  our  mountains,  making 
our  cheese,  harming  no  one,  suffering  no 
harm.  However  that  may  be,  this  is  not  a 
suitable  occasion  to  discuss  war  and  politics." 

"True!,  true!"  shouted  his  faithful  con 
stituency. 

"I  am  to  blame/'  said  Michali,  "for  the 
manner  in  which  I  told  the  story.  I  will, 
therefore,  make  amends  by  singing  a  song, 
quite  suitable,  I  think,  to  the  occasion.  Spiro, 
play  me  the  accompaniment." 

After  the  applause  had  died,  revived,  and 
died  away  several  times  like  flames  that 
are  brought  to  life  by  vagrant  gusts  of  wind, 
Spiro,  the  owner  of  the  guitar,  offered  to  sing. 

"Mind  that  it's  perfectly  proper  for  the  ears 
of  the  ladies,"  cautioned  Papa-Maleko,  as  the 
young  man  seated  himself  in  a  chair  and  pre 
pared  to  play. 

"He  has  a  fine  voice,"  said  Curtis  in  Greek, 
when  Spiro  had  finished. 

"O,  Spiro  is  one  of  our  most  famous 
singers,"  replied  the  demarch.  "And  now, 
Kyr'  Yanne,  it's  your  turn." 

"He  means  you,"  said  Michali  in  English. 
"Yanne  is  the  Greek  for  John.  He  means  to 


82          :LIKE  ANOTHER  IIEX.EN 

be  very  friendly,  to  show  that  you  are  one  of 


us." 


"I  will  sing  you,"  replied  Curtis,  without 
the  least  hesitation,  "a  Greek  song  that  I 
have  myself  written,"  and  turning  to  Michali, 
"I  can't  quite  explain  that  in  Greek:  it  is  an 
American  college  song  that  I  have  translated 
into  Greek.  I  have  read  it  over  two  or  three 
times  to  Panayota  and  she  says  she  under 
stands  it.  Indeed,  she  has  changed  it  a  little." 
And  he  sang  in  a  baritone  voice  of  indifferent 
timbre,  but  with  great  spirit,  the  following 
words  to  the  tune  of  "The  Man  Who  Drinks 
His  Whiskey  Clear": 

AVTOS  not)  Ttivsi  nadapov 

To  OV%OV  07TG3S  TTpeTTSl, 

6avarov 


Ttov  siffai;  <pp 
Kpaffl  acpoi)  diipc&j^isr 
"As  eivai  6\fyis  avpw  — 
Anois  6a 


(H  noprf  nov,  OLV 

TTfV 


Kai  avSpa  rex  jarjr  sxfr 

nov  daai^  n,  r,  A. 


THE  FIRST  OF  MAY  83 

"Tell  them,"  said  Lindbohm  to  Michali, 
"that  I  cannot  sing  in  Greek,  but  that  I  desire 
to  do  my  share  and,  with  their  permission,  I 
will  sing  a  little  song  in  my  own  language, 
appropriate,  I  assure  you,  to  the  occasion." 
Michali  translated  and  there  was  no  doubt 
as  to  the  reception  of  the  proposition.  Lind 
bohm  had  not  gone  farther  than  the  first  line 
before  smothered  "Ahs!"  of  admiration  were 
heard.  He  was  a  singer.  His  voice  was  mel 
low,  pleading,  tender,  rich.  The  song  was 
evidently  something  pathetic,  for  it  brought 
tears  to  the  eyes  of  the  impressionable  Greeks. 
The  last,  deep,  vibrating  note  died  upon  a 
couch  of  silence.  A  long  interval  ensued,  for 
to  the  Cretans  it  seemed  profane  to  reward 
such  beautiful  sound  with  a  rude  clatter  of 
hands.  At  length  Panayota  'rose  from  her 
place,  and  walking  straight  up  to  Lindbohm, 
laid  a  wreath  of  red  roses  and  myrtle  upon  his 
brow. 

They  packed  the  mules  and  started  home 
long  before  daylight.  The  procession  wound 
down  a  rocky  path  and  into  the  gray  town 
in  the  silver  dawn,  with  a  chill  breeze  blowing 
from  the  sea,  and  one  great,  white  star  glow 
ing  in  the  heavens  like  a  drop  of  dew.  The 


84  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

wreaths  had  been  threaded  upon  the  roasting- 
spits,  and  the  girls,  two  and  two,  carried  them. 
Before  sunrise,  a  fresh  wreath  was  hanging 
over  the  door  of  every  house  in  Ambellaki. 


CHAPTER  VII 
A  DEMAND,  AND  A  COWARD 

UTJELLO!"  cried  Lindbohm,  "what's 
the  hubbub?" 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  second 
of  May.  Curtis  and  his  two  friends  were  sit 
ting  in  the  mayor's  cafe,  drinking  muddy 
black  coffee,  served  in  tiny  cups. 

Noisy  voices,  as  of  an  increasing  and  ex 
cited  throng,  were  audible.  Michali,the  mayor 
and  the  Swede  rushed  to  the  door,  but  were 
almost  immediately  swept  back  on  the  crest 
of  an  angry  human  wave.  Two  or  three  tall 
young  shepherds,  with  long  'crooks  in  their 
left  hands  and  with  hairy  cloaks  thrown  over 
their  shoulders,  were  flinging  their  fists  in  the 
air  and  shouting  hoarsely.  Papa-Maleko, 
fully  as  tall  as  they,  and  looming  above  them 
by  the  height  of  his  priest's  hat,  was  flourish 
ing  angrily  a  bit  of  letter  paper,  and  evidently 
attempting  to  out-yell  them.  His  head  was 
thrown  back  and  his  great  black  beard,  jerked 
by  his  rapidly  moving  chin,  twitched  and 
danced  upon  his  breast.  Every  moment  more 

85 


86  LIKE  ANOTHER 

men,  women  and  children  crowded  into  the 
cafe,  until -it  became  thronged  to  suffocation. 
Curtis  seized  the  little  table  that  stood  before 
him  firmly  with  both  hands  and  pulled  it  over 
his  lame  foot. 

The  demarch,  clambering  upon  a  bench, 
shouted  and  gesticulated,  evidently  for  order. 
His  efforts,  at  first  unavailing,  at  last  re 
sulted  in  partial  quiet,  and  he  began  to  speak. 
He  finished  and  stepped  down.  Then  one 
of  the  shepherds  jumped  upon  the  improvised 
platform.  He  was  no  orator,  but  with  few 
and  hesitating  words,  told  his  story.  It 
was  evidently  a  case  where  facts  were  elo 
quent,  for  his  voice  was  soon  drowned  in  an 
inextinguishable  roar,  in  the  midst  of  which 
Papa-Maleko  sprang  upon  another  bench  and 
commenced  to  speak,  still  shaking  the  bit  of 
paper.  Silence  again  fell.  Curtis  could  un 
derstand  scarcely  anything.  Each  of  the 
speakers  talked  so  rapidly  that  the  words 
seemed  all  joined  together  into  one  word  of 
interminable  length.  He  only  knew  that  he 
was  listening  to  an  outburst  of  wild,  crude 
eloquence — the  eloquence  of  passion — the  ex 
ultation  of  righteous  indignation.  When  the 
priest  had  finished  he  tore  the  paper  into  little 
bits,  and  threw  them  into  the  air  with  thumbs 


A  DEMAND,  AND  A  COWARD         87 

and  fingers  extended  like  the  ribs  of  a  fan,  the 
Greek  gesture  of  a  curse. 

"Na.!"  he  cried. 

In  the  moment  of  silence,  of  evident  per 
plexity,  which  followed,  Curtis  arose,  and, 
seizing  Michali  firmly  by  the  shoulder,  pulled 
him  nearer. 

"What  in  heaven's  name  is  all  this?"  he 
asked. 

"Bad,  very  bad,"  replied  the  Cretan. 
"Kostakes  Effendi,  with  two  hundred  and 
fifty  men,  has  two  villages  destroyed  on  other 
side  of  mountain,  and  kill  many  people.  He 
write  letter  and  say  we  send  him  Panayota, 
the  priest's  daughter,  for  his  harem,  he  go 
'way.  If  no,  he  come  through  the  pass,  burn, 
kill." 

Curtis  sank  upon  the  seat  and  stared 
dumbly  at  the  broad  back  of  the  villager  just 
before  him.  It  expanded  into  the  front  of  a 
whitewashed  cottage,  with  a  laughing  Greek 
girl  standing  beneath  a  porch  of  vines.  She 
had  soft  brown  hair,  large  chestnut  eyes  and  a 
low,  broad  forehead.  As  he  looked,  a  fright 
ened  expression  crept  into  the  eyes,  and  she 
turned  them  upon  him  appealingly. 

"By  God,  they  shan't  have  her!"  he  cried 
aloud,  smiting  the  table  with  his  fist.  Rising 


88  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

without  thinking  of  his  foot,  he  began  to 
shout  the  situation  excitedly  into  Lindbohm's 
ear.  The  latter  listened  with  apparent  stolid 
ity,  but,  making  a  thrust  with  the  imaginary 
sword,  punched  the  broad  back  viciously  with 
his  fist. 

Another  of  the  shepherds  mounted  the 
bench.  Papa-Maleko  surged  through  the 
crowd  and  shook  his  fist  at  the  speaker.  This 
last  orator  was  about  forty  years  of  age, 
sturdy  and  florid.  He  had  small,  keen  eyes 
and  a  conciliatory  manner. 

"What  does  he  say?"  asked  Lindbohm  of 
Michali. 

"He  say,  send  the  girl.  We  have  but  little 
ammunition,  few  guns.  Kostakes  Effendi 
have  plenty  men,  plenty  guns.  Better  one 
suffer  than  all.  Kostakes,  he  say  is  no  'gen 
uine  Turk  anyway.  His  mother  was  a  Greek 
— he  probably  marry  the  girl." 

Then  an  unexpected  thing  happened.  The 
orator  was  having  a  visible  effect  on  a  portion 
of  his  audience.  He  was  dispersing  the 
patriotic  exaltation  of  the  weaker  minded,  and 
was  causing  even  the  boldest  to  feel  the 
hopelessness  of  their  condition.  At  this  criti 
cal  moment  the  Swede,  who  had  grown 
deathly  pale,  gave  way  to  frenzy.  He  threw 


A  DEMAND,  AND  A  COWARD         89 

the  listening  throng  to  right  and  left  as 
easily  as  though  he  were  walking  through  a 
field  of  tall  'wheat.  Reaching  the  bench  of 
the  astonished  orator,  he  kicked  it  from  under 
him.  The  Cretan  sprang  to  his  feet  and  drew 
his  knife.  Lindbohm  seized  the  uplifted  wrist 
and  twisted  it  until  the  weapon  fell  to  the 
floor.  Then  he  savagely  hustled  the  orator 
through  the  crowd,  too  astonished  to  inter 
fere,  to  the  door,  the  entire  throng  surging 
into  the  open  air  after  him.  Curtis  forgot  his 
foot,  but  was  sharply  reminded  of  it,  by  put 
ting  it  on  the  floor  in  his  eagerness  to  follow. 
When  he  finally  reached  the  door,  Lindbohm 
was  bounding  merrily  after  the  escaping 
coward,  beating  him  over  the  back  with  his 
own  staff.  Some  of  the  Cretans  were  laugh 
ing  and  others  were  shouting  "Bravo!" 

"He  will  go  to  join  the  Turks,"  said  Michali 
to  Curtis. 

"That's  where  he  ought  to  be,"  replied  the 
American. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SMOKE  BY  DAY  AND  FIRE  BY  NIGHT 

THE  peaceful  village  was  transformed 
into  a  scene  of  tumult.  An  invisible 
thundercloud  seemed  hovering  in  the 
clear  sky.  The  frightened  children  and  the 
timid  women,  running  about  the  streets,  re 
minded  Curtis  of  the  sudden  motherward 
flurry  of  chickens,  at  the  shadow  of  the 
swooping  hawk.  He  was  left  alone  in  the 
deserted  inn.  He  dragged  a  bench  to  the 
open  door  and  sat  down.  Those  rapid  prep 
arations  for  defense  were  going  on  which  sug 
gest  themselves  instinctively  to  people  bred 
and  reared  in  a  land  of  strife.  A  group  of 
sturdy  mountaineers  soon  collected  on  the 
square,  wearing  well-filled  cartridge  belts  and 
carrying  Gras  rifles.  The  throng  grew,  and 
every  new  arrival  was  greeted  affectionately 
by  his  first  name,  "Bravo,  Kyr'  Yanne!"  or 
"Bravo,  Kyr'  George!"  The  demarch  formed 
the  nucleus  of  the  group,  the  red  marks  under 
his  eyes  blushing  like  new  cut  slashes. 

A  rapid  jingling  of  bells,  and  the  sound  as 
of  animals  running,  were  heard,  and  a  sentinel 
90 


SMOKE  AND  FIRE  91 

goat  appeared  on  the  edge  of  a  distant  rock. 
He  cast  an  agitated  glance  back  over  his 
wethers,  and  slid  down,  his  four  hoofs  to 
gether,  his  back  humped  into  a  semicircle,  his 
bucolic  beard  thrust  outward.  Others  ap 
peared  and  slid  over,  as  though  borne  on  the 
crest  of  a  torrent.  Then  two  tall  shepherds 
were  sketched  for  an  instant  on  a  background 
of  mountains  and  sky,  swinging  their  crooked 
staves.  But  they,  too,  were  caught  by  the 
invisible  torrent  and  swept  into  the  town. 
Boys  were  dispatched  into  the  surrounding 
hills,  and  within  an  hour  the  streets  were  filled 
with  bleating  flocks.  The  group  of  armed 
men  grew  to  fifty.  Lindbohm  and  Michali 
had  both  been  provided  with  guns.  The 
Swede  had  been  induced  to  Discard  the  straw 
hat  as  too  conspicuous  a  mark,  and  to  bind 
a  dark  handkerchief  about  his  head.  Curtis 
felt  himself  one  of  them,  and  yet  knew  that 
he  was  not. 

"If  I  had  a  gun,  I  might  get  up  there 
among  the  rocks  and  do  something,"  he  mut 
tered.  "I  cari  shoot  just  as  well  if  I  am  lame, 
if  I  could  only  get  into  position.  Pshaw! 
What's  the  matter  with  me?  This  isn't  my 
fight.  I'm  a  non-combatant,  I  am." 

The  priest  came  down,  leading  Panayota 


92  IjIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

by  the  hand  and  carrying  a  cross.  The  girl 
was  white,  even  to  the  lips,  but  there  was  a 
proud  smile  on  her  face  and  her  eyes  were 
shining.  She  wore  a  short  Cretan  knife  in  her 
belt.  Papa-Maleko  held  aloft  the  cross  and 
solemnly  blessed  the  waiting  warriors,  after 
which  he  presented  the  sacred  symbol  to  the 
lips  of  each  in  turn.  Lindbohm  strode  over 
to  Panayota  and  pulling  the  handkerchief 
from  his  head,  bowed  low,  with  his  hand  upon 
his  heart. 

"Before  they  get  you,"  he  said,  "they  must 
yust  take  us  all." 

Curtis  shouted  "That's  right!"  but  was  not 
aware  of  the  fact  until  the  little  army  turned 
and  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"I'll  make  a  fool  of  myself  here  yet,"  he 
said,  sinking  back  on  the  bench. 

Michali  translated  Lindbohm's  speech  and 
a  great  shout  of  "Bravo!  bravo!"  went  up. 

Lindbohm  was  in  his  element. 

"There  was,"  he  understood,  "no  way 
for  the  enemy  to  get  in  from  the  land  side 
except  through  the  pass.  They  might  ap 
proach  with  difficulty  from  the  seashore,  but 
there  was  only  one  place  where  they  could 
land.  Men  were  watching  that,  and  a  smoke 
by  day  or  a  fire  by  night  would  warn  the  vil- 


SMOKE  AND  FIRE  93 

lagers.  Very  good.  Fifty  men  might  defend 
this  pass  against  two  hundred  and  fifty,  but 
they  must  lose  no  men  and  must  make  every 
shot  count.  How  much  ammunition  had 

they?" 

"Not  much.  Only  their  belts  full,  and  pos 
sibly  as  much  again,  curses  on  the  English!" 

"Very  well.  We  must  use  it  the  more  care 
fully.  We  must  not  get  excited.  Kostakes 
Effendi  cannot  possibly  reach  the  ravine  be 
fore  nightfall— can  he  get  through  without  a 

guide?" 

"'No,"  replied  the  demarch,  "impossible." 
Panayota  spoke.    She  said  only  two  words, 
and  she  said  them  quietly,  though  distinctly, 
but  they  fell  like  a  thunderclap. 
"Peter  Ampates!" 

This  was  the  name  of  the  cowardly  shep 
herd  whom  Lindbohm  had  driven  from  the 
town. 

"Is  there  any  way  to  build  fires  so  as  to 
light  up  narrow  places  in  the  ravine?" 

There  were  two  or  three  such  places  where 
bonfires  could  be  located  that  would  make  the 
pass  as  light  as  day.  People  standing  behind 
the  rocks  in  positions  of  comparative  safety 
could  easily  feed  the  flames  by  tossing  wood 
into  them. 


94  LIKE  ANOTHER  HEJLEN 

"Send  out  the  boys  and  girls  then  to  pre 
pare  these  fires  and  to  pile  up  brushwood 
enough  behind  the  rocks  to  keep  them  burn 
ing  all  night,"  commanded  the  Swede.  "Build 
one  fire  at  the  mouth  of  the  pass — "  but  here 
he  was  interrupted  by  a  chorus  of  protest. 
"Let  the  Turks  get  into  the  pass  and  then  we 
will  kill  them,"  cried  his  listeners. 

"Very  well,  but  see  that  they  don't  get 
through." 

Papa-Maleko  had  a  suggestion  to  make. 
The  Sphakiotes  often  got  the  Turks  into  nar 
row  defiles  and  rolled  stones  down  upon  their 
heads.  There  were  half  a  dozen  precipitous 
places  in  the  gorge  where  this  could  be  effec 
tively  done. 

"Capital  idea,"  assented  Lindbohm.  "Let 
some  more  women  go  to  those  places  and  pile 
up  heaps  of  the  biggest  stones  they  can 
carry."  Lindbohm  suggested  that  the  men, 
who  now  numbered  sixty,  should  take  their 
places  near  the  mouth  of  the  defile.  In  a  few 
brief  words  he  also  laid  the  foundation  of  an 
effective  commissariat.  The  mayor's  brother, 
too  old  a  man  to  fight,  was  instructed  to 
superintend  the  sending  of  food  twice  a  day, 
in  case  the  siege  should  be  protracted,  and 
above  all,  water,  which  could  not  be  found  up 


SMOKE  AND  FIRE  95 

among  the  rocks.  Women  and  boys  were  to 
act  as  carriers. 

A  messenger  was  sent  to  Korakes,  an  in 
surgent  chief,  who,  with  three  hundred  men, 
had  established  his  headquarters  near  the  vil 
lage  of  Alikiano. 

"We  might  be  able  to  hold  out  for  a  week," 
said  Lindbohm  to  Curtis,  "and  Korakes  will 
surely  come  to  our  aid.  At  any  rate,  we  must 
yust  take  our  chances." 


CHAPTER  IX 

AWAITING  THE   SIGNAL 

CURTIS  was  left  alone  in  the  priest's 
house.  Papa-Maleko  had  gone  up  the 
ravine. 

"If  one  of  my  boys  were  wounded,"  he  said, 
"and  I  were  not  there  to  comfort  him,  God 
might  forgive  me,  but  I  should  never  forgive 
myself." 

The  day  passed  very  peacefully.  Curtis  sat 
in  the  door  of  the  parsonage,  with  his  ban 
daged  foot  upon  a  stool.  The  children, 
usually  so  noisy  in  the  streets,  were  quiet,  and 
the  gossips  were  either  gone  or  were  talking 
in  whispers.  A  woman  sat  in  a  doorway  op 
posite  holding  her  babe,  that  squealed  and 
shouted  with  delight  at  the  familiarity  of  a  pet 
kid.  The  mother  smiled  sadly,  and  then 
clasped  the  child  to  her  bosom,  smothering  it 
with  affection.  The  sudden  purple  twilight 
of  the  orient  fell,  and  a  light  breeze  flew  up 
from  the  sea,  beating  the  blossoms  from  the 
cherry  and  pear  trees  and  scattering  their 
faint,  delicious  perfume.  The  purple  changed 
to  black  and  the  nightingales  began  to  sing. 

96 


AWAITING  THE  SIGNAL  97 

The  flocks  had  gone  to  sleep.  The  antiphon- 
ous  bleating  and  the  jangle  of  the  bells  were 
swallowed  up  in  the  darkness  that  was  silence, 
save  where  now  and  then  a  little  lamb  cried 
softly  to  its  mother  across  the  meadows  of 
dreamland  or  a  bell  tinkled  musically.  There 
was  a  purring  of  many  waters. 

"By  Jove,  war's  a  queer  thing,"  mused  Cur 
tis.  "It's  hate  and  lust  and  bigotry.  It's  a 
big  fiendish  lie,  and  all  the  time  a  thousand 
voices  are  preaching  truth  and  love.  Here 
am  I,  sitting  among  the  nightingales,  the 
cherry  blossoms  and  the  dreaming  sheep,  and 
a  mile  from  here  all  the  men  of  the  vicinity 
are  trying  to  cut  one  another's  throats.  And  I 
suppose  I'd  be  with  'em  if  it  wasn't  for  this 
blamed  foot.  These  Cretans  are  plucky  fel 
lows.  By  George,  I  glory  in  their  sand!  Had 
they  been  a  lot  of  cowards  they  would 
have  given  up  the  girl — but  they  wouldn't 
have  got  her  while  I  could  hold  a  gun!  Why, 
she's  a  natural  queen!  She'd  grace  any  man's 
fireside,  she  would.  What  beautiful  eyes  she 
has!  what  a  mouth!  what  a  carriage,  and 
spirit,  too!  Talk  about  your  ancient  epics  and 
your  ancient  heroines!  Why,  here's  the 
Trojan  war  right  over  again,  or  the  spirit  of 
it.  We  aren't  shy  on  men  and  women  these 


98  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

days;  we're  shy  on  Homers.  And  that  girl, 
that  Panayota,  she's  as  pure  as  snow.  She'd 
knife  herself  in  a  minute  before  she'd  allow 
herself  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Turks. 
Whatever  else  the  boys  do,  I  hope  they'll  pink 
that  Kostakes  chap.  I'd  like  to  pot  him  my 
self." 

As  the  time  wore  on,  Curtis  found  himself 
leaning  forward  in  the  darkness,  listening  for 
the  sound  of  distant  shots.  He  wondered  if 
the  Turks  would  attack  that  night  and  if  he 
could  hear  the  shots  if  they  did. 

He  went  to  the  door  and  called  to  an  old 
man  who  was  talking  in  a  low  tone,  but  ex 
citedly,  to  the  woman  across  the  way.  The 
babe  had  been  put  to  bed.  They  both  came 
running,  and  he  asked  them,  framing  his  sen 
tence  with  much  care: 

"Has  the  fighting  begun?  Can  the  guns  be 
heard  from  here?" 

They  replied  in  concert,  volubly  and  at 
great  length.  Then  they  held  a  conference 
and  withdrew. 

"That's  the  trouble  with  a  foreign  tongue," 
mused  Curtis.  "You  can  talk  to  them  all 
right,  but  they  talk  so  fast  that  you  can't  un 
derstand  what  they  say  to  you.  Now,  I  said 
it  correctly,"  and  he  repeated  the  sentence. 


AWAITING  THE  SIGNAL  99 

After  about  half  an  hour  the  old  man  re 
turned,  bringing  some  bread,  cheese,  halva 
and  a  glass  of  dark  wine.  Curtis  repeated  the 
Greek  word  for  "thank  you"  half  a  dozen 
times,  and  then  fell  upon  the  food  voraciously. 
"The  more  I  see  of  these  people,  the  better 
I  like  them,"  he  muttered.  "Now,  I  call  that 
thoughtful  of  the  old  man." 

After  he  had  finished  eating  he  tried  his 
foot,  bearing  his  weight  on  it  until  he  could 
endure  the  pain  no  longer. 

"I  believe  it's  better,"  he  soliloquized,  and 
then  cried  inconsequentially: 

"By  Jove!  I  wonder  if  that  old  blockhead 
thought  I  was  asking  for  something  to  eat? 
Panayota  would  have  understood  me  in  a 
minute.  Why,  she  and  I  get  along  all  right 
together  in  Greek.  But  then,  I  mustn't  judge 
the  rest  of  these  people  by  her." 

He  wound  up  his  watch  at  ten  o'clock,  and 
lay  down  upon  the  divan. 

"There's  going  to  be  no  fight  to-night,"  he 
muttered.  "And,  at  any  rate,  it  wouldn't  be 
my  fight  if  there  was." 

He  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed  of  Panayota, 
gigantic  in  size,  standing  on  a  cliff  by  a  wan, 
heaving  sea.  She  was  hurling  jagged  pieces 
of  rock  down  at  a  line  of  ant-like  Turks,  crawl- 


100  LIKE  ANOTHER 

ing  far  below.  The  wind  was  blowing  her 
hair  straight  out  from  her  forehead,  and  he 
could  only  see  her  mouth  and  chin,  but  he 
knew  it  was  Panayota.  He  ran  to  help  her, 
when  the  demarch  seized  him  to  hold  him 
back.  He  awoke,  and  found  that  an  old  man 
was  shaking  his  arm  and  crying  excitedly  in 
Greek,  "Fire!  fire!" 

Curtis'  first  thought  was  that  the  house  was 
burning.  He  put  his  hand  on  the  old  man's 
shoulder  and  jumped  over  to  the  door.  Half 
a  dozen  people  were  standing  in  the  moon 
light,  pointing  toward  the  hills.  Two  women, 
one  holding  a  very  young  babe  in  her  arms, 
were  crossing  themselves  hysterically  and  call 
ing  on  the  name  of  the  Virgin.  An  old  man 
of  eighty,  whom  Curtis  had  frequently  seen 
bent  nearly  double  and  walking  with  a  cane, 
now  stood  erect,  fingering  the  trigger  of  a 
rifle.  A  stripling  of  twelve  was  shaking  his 
fist  toward  a  red  eye  of  flame  that  glowed 
among  the  rocks,  high  up  and  far  away. 


CHAPTER  X 
WAR   IN    EARNEST 

THAT  was  one  of  Lindbohm's  bonfires, 
sure  enough.  Perhaps  a  battle  was 
going  on  at  that  moment. 

"Mother  of  God,  save  my  man!"  cried  the 
woman  with  the  baby.  "Save  him,  save  him!" 

"Mother  of  God,  save  my  boy,  my  cypress 
tree,  my  Petro!"  groaned  the  old  man. 

"Curse  the  Turks!  May  their  fathers  roast 
in  hell!"  shrieked  the  lad.  '"Give  me  a  gun, 
I'm  old  enough  to  shoot." 

For  three  hours  they  stood  watching  the 
fire,  as  though  they  could  actually  see  what 
was  taking  place  there.  At  times  they  stood 
silent  for  many  minutes  together,  listening, 
listening  for  the  sound  of  guns;  but  they  could 
hear  nothing.  At  last  a  shout  was  heard  in 
the  distance: 

"Oo-hoo!" 

"What  is  it?  What  is  it?"  the  watchers 
asked,  hoarsely,  looking  at  one  another  with 
pale  faces. 

Again  "Oo-hoo!    Oo-hoo!"  nearer. 

At  last  footsteps  were  heard,  as  of  one  run- 
101 


102  iLTKE  ANOTHER  HEUEN 

ning  and  stumbling  among  loose  rocks,  and 
at  length  little  Spiro  Kaphtakes  staggered 
up  to  the  group  and  stood  panting  before 
them.  His  trousers  were  torn,  and  blood  was 
flowing  from  his  legs.  The  women  and  the 
old  man  stared  at  him  open-mouthed  for  a 
long  minute,  and  then,  pouncing  upon  him, 
began  to  shake  him. 

"What  is  it?  what  news?" 

"Is  my  Petro  safe?" 

"How  goes  it  with  my  Yanne?" 

Others  ran  up  out  of  dark  alleys  and  from 
the  doorways  of  distant  houses,  and  soon 
twenty  or  more  surrounded  the  poor  boy, 
gesticulating,  screaming.  They  could  not 
wait  for  him  to  get  his  breath.  His  tongue 
lolled  out  like  that  of  a  Chinese  idol,  and  he 
swallowed  the  air  instead  of  breathing,  roll 
ing  his  eyes  about  helplessly  the  while.  At 
length,  with  a  supreme  effort,  he  gasped: 

"Yanne!" 

The  woman  with  the  babe  reeled  as  though 
the  earth  were  slipping  from  beneath  her -feet. 
A  neighbor  caught  the  child  and  the  mother 
fell  limply  to  the  ground.  Then,  while  friends 
dashed  water  upon  her  face  and  rubbed  her 
hands,  the  boy  talked  rapidly,  shrilly,  flinging 
his  arms  about  with  loose-elbowed  gestures. 


WAR  IN  EARNEST  103 

The  woman  opened  her  eyes  and  two  of  the 
men  helped  her  to  her  feet.  She  tottered  for 
a  moment,  disheveling  her  hair  with  despair 
ing  hands  and  whispering  hoarsely: 

"Yanne!  Yanne!  What  shall  I  do?  What 
shall  I  do?" 

But  suddenly  the  brave  woman-soul  as 
serted  itself  and  her  frail  body  straightened, 
tense,  defiant,  ready  for  any  effort.  Clasping 
the  babe  to  her  breast  she  kissed  it  tenderly 
many  times.  Holding  it  for  a  moment  at 
arm's  length,  she  looked  at  it  hungrily,  and 
then  turned  her  eyes  away.  A  neighbor  took 
the  child. 

"Come!"  said  the  mother,  and  she  ran 
lightly  up  the  ravine,  followed  by  the  boy. 
The  babe  bleated  "Mama!  mama!"  like  a 
frightened  lamb,  but  the  woman  did  not  look 
back.  Hopping  two  or  three  steps  from  the 
doorway,  Curtis  seized  a  woman  by  the  arm. 

"Killed?"  he  asked  in  Greek. 

"Eh?" 

"Killed?" 

Unfortunately,  everybody  understood,  and 
all  commenced  talking  at  once. 

"I  don't  understand,"  shouted  Curtis. 
"Silence!  Killed?  killed?" 

"Silence!"    cried    the    old    man    with    the 


104  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

musket,  raising  his  right  hand  in  a  command 
ing  gesture  above  the  heads  of  the  too-willing 
talkers. 

"No,"  he  replied  to  Curtis,  slowly  and  dis 
tinctly,  "not  killed.  Badly  wounded." 

"Thanks,"  replied  the  American.  "Thanks, 
thanks,  I  understand." 

Just  before  sunrise  Michali,  with  his  leg 
broken,  was  brought  in  on  a  donkey. 


CHAPTER  XI 

AN  AMATEUR  SURGEON 

THEY  laid  the  wounded  Cretan  on  the 
lounge  in  the  parsonage.  He  was  pale 
as  death  from  loss  of  blood,  and  kept 
snapping  at  his  under  lip  with  his  teeth,  but 
he  did  not  groan. 

"We  are  a  pair  of  storks  now/'  he  said,  smil 
ing  at  Curtis,  and  then  he  fainted  away.  Cur 
tis  cut  the  trouser  from  the  wounded  leg.  A 
ball  had  struck  the  shin. 

"It's  not  badly  splintered,  old  man,"  said 
the  American,  as  Michali  opened  his  eyes 
again.  "I  don't  know  anything  about  sur 
gery,  but  I  should  think  tlie  proper  thing 
would  be  to  wash  it,  support  it  with  some 
splints  and  bind  it  up  tight.  Shall  I  try 
it?" 

"What  you  need?"  asked  Michali. 

"Some  warm  water,  two  or  three  straight 
sticks  and  a  piece  of  cloth  that  I  can  tear  up 
into  strips." 

The  wounded  man  called  for  the  necessary 
articles  and  they  were  soon  brought.  Curtis 
washed  the  blood  away  carefully. 

105 


106  1LIKE  ANOTHER  HEJLEN 

The  end  of  a  piece  of  bone  pushed  against 
the  skin  from  beneath  and  made  a  sharp  pro 
tuberance. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,  old  man,  but  I've  got  to 
hurt  you,1— -like  the  devil,  I'm  afraid." 

"All  right,  my  friend,"  replied  Michali, 
"only  do  not  be  long." 

"No,  only  a  minute.  Here,  lie  on  your 
back.  That's  right.  Now  take  hold  of  the 
sides  of  the  lounge  and  hang  on  tight.  That'll 
help  you.  I  know  it  from  having  teeth  filled. 
Now,  tell  this  old  man  to  take  hold  of  your 
ankle  so,  with  both  hands,  and  pull,  slowly, 
carefully,  till  I  say  'stop,'  and  not  to  com 
mence  pulling  till  I  say  'now/  You'd  better 
explain — your  Greek  is  some  better  than 


mine." 


Michali  explained. 

"Does  he  understand?" 

"Perfectly." 

Curtis  put  his  hand  about  the  broken  shin 
in  such  a  way  that  he  could  push  the  fragment 
of  bone  into  place. 

"This  can't  be  wrong,"  he  reflected.  "At 
any  rate,  there's  nothing  else  to  do." 

Looking  at  the  old  man  he  nodded. 

"Jesus!  Jesus!  Jesus!"  gurgled  Michali,  as 
though  the  words  were  being  pulled  from  his 


AN  AMATEUR  SURGEON  107 

throat  with  a  hook.  There  was  so  much 
agony  in  them,  they  meant  so  much  more 
than  the  screams  of  a  weaker  person  would 
have  meant,  that  the  amateur  surgeon  felt 
sick  at  his  stomach  and  it  cost  him  a  tremen 
dous  effort  to  see  through  a  sort  of  blindness 
that  settled  like  a  cloud  before  his  eyes.  But 
the  two  ends  of  the  bone  came  together  and 
he  resolutely  pushed  the  splinter  into  place. 

Still  holding  the  leg  tightly  he  looked  at 
Michali.  Great  drops  of  sweat  were  standing 
on  the  Cretan's  face  and  his  underlip  was 
bleeding,  but  he  smiled  bravely. 

"All  over,"  said  Curtis.  "Now  for  the 
sticks  and  the  strips." 

Fortunately  for  the  success  of  the  opera 
tion  the  boy  who  had  led  the  mule  was  out 
side,  giving  an  account  of  the  progress  of  the 
battle.  He  proved  a  greater  attraction  even 
than  the  broken  leg.  Curtis,  finding  himself 
alone  with  his  patient,  shut  and  locked  the 
door. 

"Does  it  hurt  you  very  much,  old  man?"  he 
asked.  "I  suppose  the  proper  thing  now 
would  be  to  give  you  something  to  put  you 
to  sleep.  Don't  you  think  you  could  sleep  a 
little  while  anyway?" 


108  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"No,  no,  I  cannot  sleep.  It  hurts  me  some, 
but  not  much — not  too  much." 

Curtis  sat  quietly  for  some  time  in  the  semi- 
darkness  of  the  room,  listening  to  the  chatter 
of  the  boy  outside,  punctuated  by  the  excited 
exclamations  of  the  listeners.  He  glanced  at 
the  drawn  face  of  Michali,  which  had  a  ghastly 
hue  in  the  wan  light.  The  wounded  man's 
eyes  were  open,  but  he  made  no  sound. 

"He's  a  plucky  beggar,"  thought  Curtis. 
"I  wonder  if  it  would  do  him  any  harm  to 
talk?  I  say,  Michali,"  he  asked  aloud,  "how 
is  it  going?  What  are  they  doing  up  there?" 

"They  tried  to  come  through  about  eleven 
o'clock — but  how  can  I  tell  you,  since  you  do 
not  the  ravine  know?  It  begins  wide  on  the 
other  side — a  deep,  steep  valley,  with  many 
pine  trees,  and  paths  along  the  sides.  Near 
the  top  of  the  mountain  the  ravine  becomes 
narrow,  between  walls  of  rock,  what  you  call 
it? — perpendicular.  If  the  Turk  ever  gets 
over  the  summit  we  are  lost.  Very  well — that 
devil  Ampates!  Lindbohm  should  have  killed 
him!" 

"Why,  what  did  he  do?" 

"Without  him  the  Turk  never  could  have 
found  the  best  path.  Well,  we  have  men  on 
all  the  paths  with  dogs — good  dogs,  hear  half 


AN  AMATEUR  SURGEON  109 

a  mile,  bark — O,  like  the  devil!  We  stay  high 
up,  most  of  us,  where  ravine  is  narrow,  so  not 
to  scatter  out  too  much.  We  hide  behind  the 
rocks  on  both  sides  of  the  ravine,  on  the  other 
side  the  mountain.  We  listen  and  listen,  O, 
how  we  listen!  Nothing.  The  wind  in  the 
pine  trees.  For  hours  we  listen.  My  ears  get 
very  wide  awake.  I  think  I  hear  the  wind 
among  the  stars.  Then,  all  at  once,  we  sit  up 
very  straight,  holding  our  guns  ready.  'Boo! 
boo!  woo!'  It  is  old  Spiro's  dog,  down  below. 
We  sit  very  still.  Perhaps  the  dog  made  a 
mistake.  Perhaps  he  bark  at  the  moon.  But 
no.  'Bang!'  goes  old  Spiro's  gun.  Then  we 
know.  That  was  the  signal — Ah,  mother  of 
God!" 

No  Greek  can  talk  without  violent  gesticu 
lations,  that  frequently  bring  all  the  muscles 
of  his  body  into  play.  Michali  forgot  the  leg 
in  his  excitement,  and  gave  a  little  jump  that 
wrenched  it  slightly. 

"Never  mind,  old  man.  Don't  talk  any 
more — you'd  better  lie  quiet,"  said  Curtis. 
"You  drove  'em  back,  did  you?" 

"Twenty  men  went  down  to  the  mouth  of 
the  pass.  We  stayed  back  the  narrow  part 
to  guard,  high  up,  behind  the  rocks.  Pretty 
soon  they  commence  shooting  and  yelling. 


i  io        LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

It  was  moonlight  there,  you  see,  but  dark  like 
—like—" 

"Like  a  pocket,"  suggested  Curtis. 

"Like  a  pocket  in  the  ravine,  where  we 
were.  They  keep  shooting — 'biff,  bang,  biff, 
bang' — then  all  at  once — 'r-r-r-r-r!'  more  than 
a  hundred  guns  at  once.  That's  the  Turks/ 
said  Lindbohm.  'By  damn!  they  must  not  get 
through.  Michali,  twenty  men  must  come 
down  with  me,  twenty  stay  here.'  I  pick  out 
twenty,  and  down  we  go,  and  hide.  Then  the 
women  light  the  fire.  Whoof !  the  light  jumps 
up  and  slashes  open  the  ravine.  There  they 
come,  there  come  the  Turks,  running,  run 
ning.  The  boys  keep  shooting  from  above, 
'ping!  ping!'  but  they  not  hit  much,  straight 
down  so.  One,  two,  three  drop,  but  the  rest 
keep  coming.  We  lay  our  rifles  across  the 
rocks  and  take  aim.  Lindbohm,  he  keep  say 
ing,  very  low,  'Not  yet,  not  yet,  steady,  boys, 
steady—" 

"Steady,  boys,  steady!"  cried  Curtis;  "that's 
old  Lindbohm — yes,  yes?" 

"My  God!  I  think  the  Turks  get  right  on 
top  of  us,  when  'bang!'  Lindbohm  shoot  right 
by  my  ear  and  blow  a  hole  through  a  Turk. 
Then  we  all  shoot,  shoot,  shoot,  but  every 
time  one  Turk  die,  two  new  ones  come  around 


AN  AMATEUR  SURGEON  1 1 1 

the  corner.  And  I  think  they  get  through, 
but  the  women  pry  off  big  piece  of  rock.  O, 
most  as  big  as  this  house,  and  it  kill  two 
Turks.  Then  the  Turks  turn  and  run — " 

"Hurrah!"  sobbed  Curtis. 

"Hurrah!"  echoed  Michali.  "We  killed 
thirty-four  damned  Turks!" 

"How  many  men  did  you  lose?"  asked  Cur 
tis. 

"One,  shoot  through  the  head.  He  high 
up  and  fall  down  into  the  ravine.  Turks 
laugh  very  loud.  Another  here,  through  the 
stomach.  He  die  pretty  soon — he  with  us. 
His  name  Yanne.  And  me,  I  get  this  little 
wound  in  the  leg.  How  they  hit  my  leg,  I 
don't  know." 

As  they  were  talking  the  church  bell  began 
to  ring. 


CHAPTER  XII 
"STILL  I   SAY  UNTO   YOU,   COURAGE" 

UTJELLO!    What's  that  for?"   asked 
Curtis. 

Michali  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"Who  knows?"  he  replied. 

Curtis  hopped  to  the  door,  unlocked  it  and 
looked  out.  The  church  stood  across  the  road 
on  the  top  of  a  big,  flat  rock.  Though  small, 
it  boasted  a  Byzantine  dome.  The  bell  hung 
in  a  frame  erected  over  the  porch,  and  the 
rope  was  tied  about  a  wooden  pillar,  to  pre 
vent  its  being  blown  out  of  reach  by  the  wind. 

"Why,  it's  Papa-Maleko  himself,"  cried  the 
American. 

The  priest  gave  the  rope  two  or  three  more 
decisive  jerks,  and  then,  leaving  the  end  dang 
ling,  started  for  the  house.  His  stately  black 
robe  was  rent  down  the  front,  and  the  wind 
blew  the  pieces  out  behind,  exposing  his  vol 
uminous  Cretan  breeches  and  his  yellow  boots. 
His  long  hair  had  writhed  loose  from  its  fast 
enings  and  had  fallen  down  his  back.  It  was 
beautiful  and  reminded  Curtis  of  Panayota. 
His  tall  hat  was  battered  at  the  side,  so  that 


"I  SAY  UNTO  YOU,  COURAGE"     113 

the  roof  looked  as  though  it  were  slipping  off. 
He  spoke  a  few  words  to  Michali,  and  then, 
opening  the  trunk  studded  with  brass  nails, 
he  took  out  and  donned  his  sacerdotal  vest 
ments,  a  sleeveless  cloak  with  a  cross  in  the 
middle  of  the  back  and  a  richly  embroidered 
stole.  Running  his  fingers  through  his  long, 
glossy  hair  and  shaking  it  out  as  a  lion  shakes 
his  mane,  he  strode  back  to  the  little  church, 
into  which  the  people  were  already  excitedly 
pouring. 

"It  looks  bad,"  said  .Michali;  "he  is  about 
to  ask  for  God's  help." 

"I'm  going  across,"  said  Curtis. 
"Can  you  walk  so  far?"  asked  Michali. 
"O,  yes;  with  this  crutch  I  can  get  over 
there  all  right." 

Though  the  church  was  crowded,  there  was 
absolute,  solemn  silence.  These  simple  peo 
ple  believed  that  they  were  in  the  very  pres 
ence  of  God.  Kindly  hands  seized  Curtis  and 
assisted  him  into  one  of  the  high-backed,  nar 
row  seats  ranged  along  the  walls.  Two  tall 
candles  threw  a  flickering  light  on  a  crude  St. 
George  and  the  Dragon,  of  mammoth  size, 
painted  on  the  screen.  Every  new  comer 
kissed  the  face  of  a  florid  virgin  that  looked 
up  out  of  a  gaudy  frame,  reposing  on  the 


114  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

slanting  top  of  a  tall  stand  near  the  door. 
Numerous  eikons  in  gilded  frames  hung  about 
the  wall,  and  a  silent  throng  of  forgotten 
saints,  painted  on  the  dome  above,  peered  dim 
ly  down  upon  the  worshippers.  The  windows 
were  narrow,  but  enough  sunlight  straggled 
in  to  give  a  ghostly  look  to  the  candles,  light 
ed  here  and  there.  Papa-Maleko's  voice  was 
musical  and  tender.  He  commenced  chanting 
in  a  low,  pleading  tone,  but  as  the  glorious 
words  of  the  litany  gradually  took  possession 
of  his  soul,  the  melodious,  full-voweled  Greek 
syllables  rolled  more  and  more  confidently 
from  his  tongue.  The  poor,  frightened  moth 
ers  and  children  of  his  flock  raised  their  faces 
and  sniffed  the  wholesome  incense  that  now 
pervaded  the  building.  The  spirit  of  the 
scene  carried  Curtis  away.  He  was  awed  and 
mysteriously  refreshed,  as  one  who,  in  a  noi 
some  cavern,  feels  the  cool,  sweet  air  blowing 
upon  him  from  the  darkness.  He  found  him 
self  beating  the  arm  of  his  seat  and  chanting 
inaudibly,  again  and  again,  the  sublime  words, 
"Ein'  feste  Burg  ist  unser  Gatt." 

"Ah,  yes,  God  will  protect  us!  He  is  our 
very  present  help  in  time  of  trouble/* 

And  now,  Papa-Maleko  is  blessing  his  flock, 
one  by  one.  Down  the  aisle  he  passes,  hold- 


"I  SAY  UNTO  YOU,  COURAGE" 

ing  a  little  cross  to  the  eager  lips,  speaking 
words  of  comfort. 

"Courage,  courage,  my  children,"  he  says; 
"when  God  is  with  us  who  can  be  against  us? 
Christ  is  fighting  for  us  and  the  Holy  Virgin 
and  all  the  saints.  Courage,  courage." 

They  seized  his  hand  and  kissed  it.  Women 
sobbed  in  an  exaltation  of  faith.  Mothers 
pressed  the  cross  to  the  lips  and  foreheads  of 
their  wondering  babes. 

"The  Virgin  is  our  helper,"  they  said. 

"Christ  and  the  Virgin  be  with  you,"  re 
sponded  the  priest. 

So  he  stood,  his  left  hand  lifted  in  blessing, 
his  right  extending  the  cross;  stately  in  his 
flowing  robes,  calm  in  the  dignity  of  his  ex 
alted  message. 

"Have  courage,  my  children,"  he  repeated, 
smiling  benignly.  "It  came  to  me  there  in 
the  mountains,  like  a  voice  from  God.  'Ye 
are  Christians;  why  do  ye  not  call  upon  the 
God  of  hosts?'  " 

"Papa-Maleko!" 

In  an  instant  the  whole  congregation  had 
turned  and  were  looking  towards  the  door. 
There  stood  a  tall  shepherd  with  a  rifle  in  his 
hand.  His  face  was  blackened  with  powder 
and  he  seemed  covered  with  blood. 


Il6  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"What  is  it?  what  is  it?"  shrieked  a  dozen 
voices. 

"There  is  a  terrible  fight.  Loukas  and 
Spiro  are  killed — " 

The  words  of  the  priest  rang  out  clear  and 
strong: 

"Our  God  is  a  very  present  help — courage, 
my  children!" 

"My  left  arm  is  broken.  The  Turks  got  on 
top  of  the  hill,  where  the  girls  were,  but  the 
girls  all  jumped  off,  laughing.  All  killed,  Par- 
askeve,  Elene,  Maria — " 

The  speaker's  voice  was  drowned  in  a  pan 
demonium  of  shrieks  and  sobs. 

But  again  the  priest  was  heard,  reverently, 
distinctly,  firmly,  like  the  voice  of  Christ  calm 
ing  the  waters. 

"They  are  with  Christ  in  paradise.  Still  I 
say  unto  you,  courage.  Since  God  is  with  us 
who  shall  stand  against  us?" 

"Panayota  was  with  them,  but  her  dress 
caught  in  a  thorn  bush,  and  before  she  could 
tear  herself  loose  the  Turks  had  her." 

Every  eye  in  the  church  was  riveted  upon 
the  priest.  The  cross  rattled  to  the  floor,  and 
his  arm  dropped  to  his  side.  His  lips  were 
white  and  there  was  a  terrible  look  in  the  large 
brown  eyes. 


"I  SAY  UNTO  YOU,  COURAGE » 

"Panayota!  Panayota!"  he  called  hoarsely. 
His  voice  sounded  far  away  now.  Suddenly 
he  tore  off  his  sacred  vestments  and  flung 
them  in  a  heap  on  the  floor.  Striding  to  the 
wounded  shepherd,  he  snatched  the  gun  from 
his  hand.  Looking  from  the  window,  Curtis 
saw  him  running  toward  the  hills,  his  long 
hair  streaming  on  the  wind.  The  flock  poured 
out  after  him  and  the  American  was  sitting 
in  the  deserted  house  of  God,  gazing  at  a  pile 
of  sacred  robes  and  muttering  stupidly: 

"Panayota!  Panayota!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  BRAVE  THING  TO  DO 

4  4  TT  ARK!"  said  Curtis,  who  was  sitting 
in  the  door  of  the  parsonage. 
1  *  "What's  that?" 

"I  didn't  hear  anything,"  replied  Michali. 

"I  did.  I  believe  it  was  a  gun.  It  was  a 
faint  throb  in  the  air.  There  it  goes  again. 
There  they  go!" 

No  mistake  was  possible  this  time. 

"They're  coming  through,"  said  Michali, 
rising  upon  his  elbow.  "The  Turks  will  be 
here  pretty  quick,  now,  I  think." 

"Hello,"  cried  Curtis,  "there  comes  the 
demarch.  There  he  goes  into  that  house. 
Now  he  comes  out — there  he  goes  into  an 
other — what's  up,  I  wonder?  Here  he  comes!" 

Kyr'  Nikolaki  looked  in  at  the  door.  His 
face  was  flabby  with  fatigue  and  his  under 
lids  had  drooped  perceptibly,  enlarging  the 
red  pits  beneath  his  eyes  into  semicircles. 

"What  is  it?  what  is  it?"  asked  Curtis,  who 
had  not  clearly  understood  the  few  hurried 
words  addressed  by  the  demarch  to  Michali. 

"They're  nearly  out  of  cartridges.     They 

118 


THE  BRAVE  THING  TO  DO          119 

can't  hold  the  pass  over  an  hour  longer. 
They're  going  to  send  the  flocks  and  the  wom 
en  and  children  down  to  the  sea.  The  village 
owns  a  lot  of  caiques  there.  Then  the  men 
will  retreat  last,  fighting,  shooting  all  the 
time." 

"But  what  are  you  quarreling  about?" 

"O,  nothing.     Nothing  at  all." 

It  did  not  take  the  Ambellakians  long  to 
pack  up.  The  most  treasured  belongings 
were  thrown  into  blankets,  which  were  rolled 
into  bundles,  and  then,  away  for  the  ravine  and 
the  sea! 

A  mother  dashed  by  the  house  with  a  babe 
under  her  left  arm  and  a  bundle  over  her  right 
shoulder.  Another  dragged  two  frightened 
children  along  the  stony  street,  clutching  tight 
a  tiny  wrist  with  each  hand.  An  aged  couple 
doddered  by,  the  man  with  feeble  and  palsied 
hand  striving  to  support  the  woman,  who 
clung  to  a  frame  containing  two  bridal 
wreaths.  From  amid  the  faded  orange  blos 
soms  smiled  the  youthful  eyes  of  a  shy  moun 
tain  girl  and  a  stout  pallikari — man's  work 
lasts  so  much  better  than  man  himself. 

The  confusion  grew  to  frenzy.  A  parrot- 
like  chatter  and  screaming  of  women  filled  the 
air.  A  florid  housewife  stumbled  and 


120        :LIKE  ANOTHER 

wheezed  down  the  street,  carrying  a  pair  of 
long-handled  coffee  stew  pans.  She  did  not 
know  what  they  \vere,  but  had  seized  them 
through  force  of  habit.  Another  bore  a  cheap 
chromo,  representing  skin-clad  hunters 
thrusting  spears  into  a  number  of  colossal 
polar  bears.  She  fell  and  jabbed  her  knee 
through  the  picture,  but  picked  up  the  frame 
and  ran  on  with  that.  Scrips,  or  bags  of  pied 
and  brightly-colored  wool,  of  which  two  or 
more  are  to  be  found  in  every  Cretan  peas 
ant's  house,  were  hanging  from  the  arms  and 
shoulders  of  many  of  the  fugitives. 

At  a  burst  of  firing,  seemingly  more  dis 
tinct  and  nearer  than  anything  that  had  pre 
ceded  it,  an  old  woman  stopped,  and  fumb- 
lingly  extracted  a  silver  mounted  eikon  from 
her  scrip.  After  kissing  it  and  making  the 
sign  of  the  cross  several  times,  she  replaced 
it,  and  hurried  on  again.  A  babe  was  laugh 
ing  and  clutching  with  glee  at  the  disheveled 
locks  of  its  fleeing  mother.  A  girl  of  six 
hugged  to  imminent  suffocation  a  shapeless 
and  wrinkled  pup. 

The  demarch  came  in  again,  accompanied 
by  Lindbohm  and  a  stalwart  mountaineer. 
The  Swede  had  a  gun  in  his  left  hand.  In  the 
grime  of  his  powder-blackened  face  his  eyes 


THE  BRAVE  THING  TO  DO         121 

looked  unnaturally  blue.  But  they  were  no 
longer  childlike.  It  was  rather  the  blue  of  an 
angry  sea. 

"Panayota's  taken,"  he  said  to  Curtis. 

"I  know  it." 

"There's  nothing  to  be  done  now  except 
to  rally  the  men  and  rescue  her."  The  Swede 
did  not  talk  like  a  man  in  despair.  He  seemed, 
on  the  contrary,  exalted  by  a  great  resolve. 

"We  will  get  together  and  fall  upon  Kos- 
takes  like  a  thunderbolt.  We'll  not  let  him 
go  far.  And  if  he  harms  a  hair  of  her  head — " 
He  doubled  his  ponderous  fist  and  shook  it. 
Then  he  whirled  about  briskly  and  gazed  at 
Michali. 

"We'll  take  you  somehow,"  he  said.  "We'll 
be  as  careful  as  we  can.  They'll  kill  you  if 
you  stay  here." 

"I  not  go,"  replied  Michali.  "I  have  said 
it  to  the  demarch.  Take  two  strong  men  to 
carry  me.  They  better  be  fighting.  Leave  a 
gun  with  me.  When  they  find  me  I  will  kill 
two,  three  Turks.  Ha!  By  God,  I  surprise 
them!  So  I  die!" 

"Come,  no  more  of  this  foolishness,"  said 
Lindbohm.  <4I  take  him  on  my  back,  and  the 
shepherd  here  take  you,"  turning  to  Curtis. 

But  Curtis  had  been  thinking  very  fast,  and 


122  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

the  bright  image  of  his  beautiful  and  high- 
spirited  hostess  in  the  hands  of  the  Turks  had 
sharpened  his  wits  to  an  extraordinary  de 
gree. 

"Look  here,  Lindbohm,"  he  said,  speaking 
very  rapidly,  "I'll  stay  here  and  look  out  for 
Panayota.  They  won't  kill  me,  I'm  a  non- 
combatant,  and  the  Turks  won't  be  so  apt  to 
abuse  the  girl  when  there's  a  foreigner 
amongst  them.  Help  me  to  the  wine  cave. 
I'll  hide  there  till  the  right  moment  and  then 
I'll  give  myself  up." 

Lindbohm  saluted. 

"I  would  not  have  asked  it,"  he  said,  "but 
it  is  the  brave  thing  to  do.  Ah,  tell  the  officer 
you're  a  newspaper  correspondent.  That's 
the  safest  thing." 

The  firing  had  ceased  entirely  for  several 
minutes.  Now  rapid  footsteps  were  heard. 
Looking  toward  the  door  Curtis  saw  a  Cretan 
shepherd  fling  by.  He  was  running  low  to  the 
ground,  carrying  his  gun  horizontally,  like  a 
man  hunting — or  being  hunted.  Another  and 
another  passed. 

"We  have  five  minutes  now,"  said  Lind 
bohm,  holding  out  his  arms  to  Michali.  "They 
have  given  up  the  pass.  Come!  Must  I  take 
you,  or  will  you  come  on  my  back?" 


THE  BRAVE  THING  TO  DO          123 

"I  come,"  replied  Michali,   "to  the  wine 


cave." 


Lindbohm  kneeled  by  the  divan  and  Micha 
li  put  his  arms  about  his  neck.  The  Swede 
arose,  wrenching  from  the  Cretan's  throat  a 
groan  that  ended  in  a  low,  sharp  shriek. 

Lindbohm  strode  from  the  door,  followed 
by  the  demarch  and  the  shepherd,  the  last 
mentioned  carrying  Curtis. 

Five  or  six  shots,  followed  by  a  persistent 
fusillade,  were  heard. 

"Now  I  think  they  come  through,"  mut 
tered  Lindbohm,  breaking  into  a  run.  Mi 
chali  was  breathing  in  tremulous,  faint  groans 
between  set  teeth.  Then,  mercifully,  he 
fainted,  and  remained  unconscious  until  the 
Swede,  panting  with  exertion,  bounded 
through  the  arbor  into  the  dim  cafe. 

The  demarch  ran  to  his  wine  barrels,  and, 
pulling  an  empty  one  around  parallel  with  the 
wall,  smashed  in  its  end  with  the  butt  of  a 
musket,  using  the  weapon  as  though  it  were 
a  battering  ram.  Michali  was  shoved  into  the 
barrel  as  tenderly  as  possible  and  the  broken 
pieces  were  laid  in  beside  him.  Then  they 
pushed  the  tun  back  into  place,  with  the  open 
end  against  the  wall. 

"And  you?"    said  Lindbohm,    turning  to 


124  XIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

Curtis,  who  was  sitting  upon  the  table  where 
the  shepherd  had  dropped  him. 

"Save  yourselves!"  cried  the  American, 
pointing  to  the  door.  A  shepherd,  standing 
behind  the  platane  tree,  was  aiming  at  some 
thing  above  him.  He  fired,  and  jerking  the 
empty  shell  from  his  smoking  piece,  reloaded. 
Three  Cretans  darted  to  the  rear  of  the  cafe, 
trailing  blue  ropes  of  smoke  from  the  muzzles 
of  their  guns.  The  man  behind  the  tree  start 
ed  after  them,  but  stopped  at  a  crash  of  mus 
ketry  and  dropped  his  gun  with  a  "ching" 
among  the  rocks.  His  legs  broke  at  the  knees 
as  though  some  one  had  playfully  jabbed  them 
from  behind.  As  he  instinctively  threw  for 
ward  his  arms  to  save  himself  from  falling,  his 
elbows  collapsed  and  his  hands  fell  flopping 
at  the  wrist,  like  penguin's  wings.  He  was 
dead  before  his  body  reached  the  ground. 

Lindbohm  snatched  his  musket  from  the 
table  and  ran  from  the  cafe,  followed  by  the 
demarch  and  the  shepherd.  Curtis  slipped 
into  a  corner,  behind  the  huge  oil  crock.  The 
sound  of  the  firing  continued,  but  no  one  came 
into  the  cafe.  Ten  minutes,  twenty  minutes 
passed.  They  seemed  hours  to  the  Ameri 
can.  Occasionally  he  heard  a  sput,  sput 
against  the  outside  of  the  soft  wall.  Once 


THE  BRAVE  THING  TO  DO         125 

a  "ftha,"  like  the  hissing  of  a  cat,  was  fol 
lowed  by  a  humming  sound,  as  a  bullet, 
slightly  flattened  by  the  sand,  sang  in  through 
the  open  door. 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  these  things 
were  dangerous. 

"I  must  see  what  they  are  doing,"  he  said. 
"It's  a  good  fight!  It's  a  good  fight!" 

He  slid  around  the  smooth,  cool  crock  and 
leaned  out  from  his  hiding  place.  He  could 
see  nothing  but  a  strip  of  the  open  door  and 
a  huge  vine,  sturdy  as  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  He 
jumped  back  just  in  time  to  save  himself.  The 
cafe  was  poured  full  of  Turks,  bringing  Pana- 
yota  and  her  father.  An  officer,  young,  slen 
der  and  very  handsome,  dropped  into  a  chair 
and  laid  his  unsheathed  sword  before  him  on 
the  table.  The  soldiers  fell  respectfully  back, 
leaving  the  girl  and  the  priest  standing  facing 
the  officer.  Ampates  slunk  in  the  background 
with  Panayota's  Cretan  knife  in  his  hand.  It 
was  he  who  had  led  the  way  to  the  women, 
by  a  round-about  path. 

A  long  conversation  ensued,  in  which 
Kostakes  spoke  with  insinuating  sweet 
ness,  smiling  continually  and  occasionally 
twirling  the  ends  of  his  small,  dark  mustache. 
His  intentions  with  reference  to  Panayota 


126  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

were  honorable,  he  said.  The  priest  began  his 
reply  in  a  pleading  tone  but  ended  with  a  fiery 
denunciation.  Once  or  twice  a  soldier  stepped 
threateningly  towards  him,  but  Kostakes 
waved  the  would-be  murderer  back  with  a 
slight  gesture  or  an  almost  imperceptible  move 
ment  of  the  head.  Panayota  was  magnificent. 
She  seemed  at  no  moment  to  have  any  doubt 
of  herself.  She  stood  erect,  pale,  calm,  con 
temptuous,  until  near  the  end  of  the  interview 
when,  with  an  incredibly  quick  movement, 
she  snatched  the  sword  from  the  table,  and, 
turning  the  hilt  towards  her  father,  threw  back 
her  head  and  closed  her  eyes.  The  officer  with 
a  loud  cry  sprang  to  his  feet,  tipping  over  the 
table,  and  a  soldier  knocked  the  weapon  harm 
lessly  into  the  air.  All  the  Turks  in  the  room 
leaped  upon  Papa-Maleko,  who  fought  like  a 
cornered  cat,  wounding  one,  two,  three  of  his 
assailants.  The  Turks  did  not  dare  shoot,  for 
fear  of  killing  their  officer  or  the  girl.  Cur 
tis  came  from  his  hiding  place,  crying  hoarse 
ly  in  English: 

"Panayota!  For  God's  sake!  For  God's 
sake!  Panayota!"  and  then  "Don't  shoot! 
Don't  shoot!  You'll  kill  Panayota!" 

But  it  was  no  part  of  Kostakes'  plan  to 
kill  Panayota's  father  in  her  presence.  A 


THE  BRAVE  THING  TO  DO          127 

Turk,  cooler  than  the  rest,  reaching  over  the 
heads  of  his  comrades,  dropped  the  butt  of  a 
rifle  on  the  man's  skull  and  he  sank  to  the 
ground.  Panayota  fell  on  her  knees  beside 
him,  fumbling  in  his  hair  and  sobbing,  "Papa ! 
papa!" 

The  heart  has  a  little  vocabulary  of  its  own, 
which  it  has  spoken  from  the  beginning  of  the 
world,  the  same  for  all  peoples,  unchanged  in 
the  confusion  of  tongues.  Curtis  was  not  no 
ticed  in  the  tumult  until  he  had  forced  his  way 
into  the  officer's  very  presence,  where  he 
stood,  shaking  his  fist  and  shouting,  still  in 
his  own  tongue: 

"This  is  a  shame!  Do  you  hear  me?  You're 
a  scurvy  blackguard  to  treat  a  girl  in  that  way. 
If  I  had  you  alone  about  five  minutes  I'd  show 
you  what  I  think  of  you!" 

Two  or  three  soldiers  sprang  forward,  and 
a  petty  officer  half  drew  his  sword,  but  Kos- 
takes,  astonished  at  hearing  a  language  which 
he  did  not  understand,  but  which  he  surmised 
to  be  either  German  or  English,  motioned 
them  back. 

"Qui  $tes  vous,  Monsieur,  et  que  faites  vous 
id?"  he  asked  in  the  French  which  he  had 
learned  at  the  high  school  at  Canea. 


128  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"Je  suis  American,  correspondent  du du 

—New  York  Age,"  replied  Curtis. 

"Ah,  charm*!  charm*!  Comment  dites  vous 
en  'Anglais?  Welcome.  Je  sids  Kostakes, 
Capitaine  de  Cavalerie,  h  votre  service!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 
A   CRITICAL   MOMENT 

CURTIS  did  not  find  it  easy  to  express 
his  feelings  in  French  to  this  smiling 
officer  with  the  straight,  large  nose, 
dazzling  white  teeth  and  cordial  manner,  who 
wore  an  inverted  red  flower  pot  for  a  hat. 
French  is  no  language  for  a  self-respecting 
man  to  swear  in,  any  way.  Besides,  one  does 
not,  in  Ollendorf ,  learn  a  vocabulary  suitable  to 
critical  occasions.  All  Curtis  could  think 
of  was  "Idche"  "sacrt  bleu"  and  "caramba,." 
The  first  did  not  seem  appropriate,  the  second 
lost  its  force  by  translating  itself  in  his  mind 
into  English  and  he  was  not  certain  whether 
the  last  was  French,  Spanish  or  Italian,  so  he 
asked: 

"Is  this  lady  a  prisoner  of  war?"  And  Kos- 
takes  answered: 

"Monsieur  is  as  gallant  as  he  is  brave.  I 
give  you  my  word  of  honor  that  neither  the 
lady  nor  her  father  shall  come  to  any  harm. 
Is  that  sufficient?" 

It  had  to  be,  so  Curtis,  being  anything  but 
a  fool,  replied: 

129 


130  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"A  gentleman's  word  of  honor  is  always 
sufficient." 

"And  now,"  continued  Kostakes,  "being  a 
non-combatant,  you  are  at  perfect  liberty  to 
follow  your  own  wishes.     Will  you  remain 
here  or  go  with  us?    We  shall  be  charmed,  I 
assure  you,  charmed  to  have  your  society." 
"How  long  will  you  stay  here?" 
"About  an  hour.    Just  long  enough  to  col 
lect  any  spoils  of  war  and  burn  the  town." 
"Burn  the  town?" 

"Certainly,  this  is  war,  and  war,  even  for  a 
nation  as  highly  civilized  as  Turkey,  consists 
in  doing  your  enemy  as  much  harm  as  possi 
ble." 

Curtis  glanced  uneasily  at  the  row  of  bar 
rels  in  the  cave.  Here  was  a  new  dilemma. 
Should  he  give  up  the  brave  Cretan  and  ap 
peal  to  Kostakes'  manliness  and  chivalry?  He 
looked  at  the  Turk  shrewdly.  Somehow  he 
did  not  have  confidence  in  him. 

Besides,  Michali  could  understand  French. 
If  he  were  conscious,  he  could  call  out  and 
give  himself  up,  if  he  thought  it  were  safe. 

"I  would  stay  here,"  thought  Curtis,  "and 
ask  him  to  leave  me  the  cafe  as  a  shelter.    But 
there's  Panayota,  I  mustn't  desert  her." 
The  firing  had  ceased  and  the  looting  had 


A  CRITICAL  MOMENT  131 

begun.  Turks  darted  by  the  door  in  the  aban 
doned  glee  of  destruction,  or  passed  more 
slowly,  dragging  bedticks,  doors,  pieces  of  fur 
niture  and  other  inflammable  articles,  which 
they  were  casting  upon  a  great  bonfire  in  the 
square.  A  wave  of  ribald  laughter,  that  start 
ed  somewhere  in  the  distance  and  ran  nearer 
and  louder,  splashed  into  the  open  door.  A 
soldier  danced  in  with  an  eikon  of  the  Holy 
Virgin,  and  held  it  up  for  the  guard  to  spit 
upon.  Then  he  tossed  it  into  the  fire.  The 
priest,  who  was  sitting  on  the  floor,  supported 
by  the  kneeling  Panayota,  covered  his  eyes 
with  his  hands  and  shuddered  with  horror. 
The  trellis  for  the  demarches  grape  arbor  came 
down  with  a  crash  and  was  wrenched  loose 
from  the  grip  of  the  despairing  vines.  The 
benches  whereon  the  gossip  shepherds  had 
sat  and  sipped  their  coffee,  bore  company  in 
the  fire  with  the  only  rocking  chair  in  the 
village,  in  which  a  very  old  lady  used  to 
sway  to  and  fro  and  sing  lullabies  of  her  for 
gotten  childhood.  A  soldier  seized  one  of  the 
tables  within  the  cafe  and  tossed  it  through  the 
open  door.  Then  he  dragged  out  a  long  bench, 
that  scraped  and  spluttered  on  the  floor  of  hard 
beaten  earth.  Two  others  braced  themselves 


132  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

between  the  wall  and  the  oil  crock.  An  in 
spiration  flashed  through  Curtis'  mind. 

"Stop!  stop!"  he  shouted.  "It  is  full  of  oil 
— the  lady  on  the  floor." 

"Mais,  certainement,"  cried  Kostakes,  and 
he  sent  the  soldiers  from  the  room. 

"The  same  argument  will  apply  to  the  wine 
barrels,"  reflected  Curtis.  "They  would  have 
been  at  them  in  a  minute  more." 

"Does  Monsieur  elect  to  stay  with  us,  or 
with  the  Greeks?"  asked  the  Captain.  "We 
must  leave  here  immediately,  before  the 
Greeks  return  with  reinforcement  and  seize 
the  ravine." 

"If  I  might  be  permitted  to  go  with  you? 
But  I  am  lame;  I  have  hurt  my  foot." 

"I  regret  greatly  to  hear  it.  Not  seriously, 
I  hope?" 

"No,  I  stepped  on  a — a — thorn,"  he  did  not 
know  the  French  word  for  sea  urchin. 

"I  will  give  a  horse — my  own,  if  necessary. 
I  shall  be  charmed,  charmed.  And  now,  per 
haps  you  will  excuse  me  one  moment  while 
I  marshal  the  force?  Perhaps,  also,  you  will 
look  at  the  priest's  head.  I  regret  that  our 
surgeon  was  killed  in  the  attack." 

Rising,  he  said  a  few  wrords  in  Greek  to 
Panayota,  bending  deferentially  with  his  hand 


A  CRITICAL  MOMENT  133 

on  his  heart.  His  tones  were  musical  and 
earnest  and  Curtis  understood  him  almost 
perfectly.  He  spoke  high  Greek  very  dis 
tinctly.  He  expressed  regret  for  Papa-Male- 
ko's  hurt,  and  assured  the  girl  of  his  undying 
love. 

"You  are  the  cause  of  all  this  ruin,  fair  crea 
ture,"  he  murmured  earnestly.  "My  love  for 
you  brought  me  here.  Have  no  fears.  You 
shall  be  treated  like  a  queen.  Not  a  hair  of 
your  head  nor  of  your  father's  shall  be  harmed. 
All  I  ask  is  a  little  love  in  return." 

She  made  no  reply.  She  did  not  even  look 
up.  Curtis  felt  a  great  spasm  of  rage  contract 
his  heart,  and  a  queer  sickness  swoop  down 
upon  him.  He  wanted  to  kill  Kostakes,  he 
did  not  know  exactly  why.  The  man  certain 
ly  had  a  right  to  love  the  girl;  it  is  any  man's 
inalienable  right,  established  from  the  begin 
ning  of  the  world,  to  love  any  girl;  and  the 
protestations  of  protection  were  exactly  what 
Curtis  wanted,  but  somehow  they  made  him 
sick  and  mad.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  killing, 
why  couldn't  he  do  a  little  for  himself?  Then 
Kostakes  bent  lower,  and  attempted  to  lift 
Panayota's  hands  to  his  lips.  She  threw  his 
arm  from  her  with  horror,  and,  shrinking 
back,  with  doubled  fists,  looked  at  him  with 


134  UKE  ANOTHER  HEJLEN 

such  an  ague  of  open-mouthed,  staring  dis 
gust  as  no  Duse  or  Bernhardt  ever  dreamed 
of.  Curtis  felt  almost  friendly  toward  Kos- 
takes,  who  bowed  solemnly,  with  hand  upon 
heart,  and  strode  from  the  room.  Two  sen 
tinels  took  their  places  just  inside  the  open 
door,  and  closed  the  entrance  with  crossed 
bayonets. 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  MAN   IN  THE   BARREL 

CURTIS  parted  the  long  hair  carefully 
on  Papa-Maleko's  head  with  his  fin 
gers  and  looked  for  the  wound. 

"I  ought  to  have  been  a  doctor/'  he  said 
to  Panayota. 

She  smiled,  a  little,  fleeting  smile  that  was 
sadder  than  tears.  Her  hair,  that  had  been 
wound  into  a  great  coil  at  the  back  of  her 
head,  had  slipped  partly  loose.  Even  as  she 
looked  up  at  Curtis,  the  glossy  rope  writhed 
like  a  living  thing,  and  a  massive  loop 
dropped  down  upon  her  temple.  Though  her 
cheeks  were  pale,  her  lips  were  still  red — Cur 
tis  had  never  noticed  until  now  how  red  and 
velvety  they  were. 

"Is  he  badly  hurt?"  she  asked. 

Papa-Maleko's  hair  was  clotted  with  blood, 
but  Curtis  made  absolutely  sure  that  the  skull 
was  not  fractured. 

"No,"  he  replied,  "it  is  not  broken." 

"Thank  God!  thank  God!"  cried  Pana 
yota. 

The  priest  put  his  hand  on  his  daughter's 

135 


136  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

shoulder  and  shuffled  to  his  feet.  He  stag 
gered  a  little  and  caught  his  head  in  his  hands. 

"O  papa!  papa!"  cried  the  girl,  throwing 
her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"Bah!  I'm  all  right.  I  was  a  little  dizzy, 
that's  all." 

"Nothing  broken.  Nothing  broken,"  re 
iterated  Curtis.  "The  blood  is  from  the — " 
he  did  not  know  the  word  for  skin,  so  he  lifted 
up  a  little  tent  on  the  back  of  his  left  hand 
with  the  finger  and  thumb  of  his  right. 

"Nothing,  nothing  at  all,"  said  the  priest. 
Panayota  turned  her  eyes  toward  the  smoky 
and  cobwebbed  rafters  and  crossed  herself. 
The  steel  cross  in  the  door  leaped  to  a  parallel 
of  presented  muskets,  and  Kostakes  Effendi 
reappeared.  Twirling  his  mustache,  he  gazed 
perplexedly  at  the  group  within  the  cafe,  but 
recovered  himself  in  a  moment  and  advanced 
smiling. 

"So  his  reverence  is  quite  well  again!  I  am 
glad  to  see  it,  very  glad.  I  feared  that  his  skull 
was  fractured.  A  musket  butt  is  no  play 
thing." 

The  Turk  assisted  Curtis  to  the  door,  and 
into  a  cavalry  saddle  on  the  back  of  a  respect 
able  looking  horse. 

"It  is  the  horse  of  my  sous-lieutenant,"  ex- 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  BARREL          137 

plained  Kostakes,  "'who  really  prefers  to  walk 
— Lieutenant  Gadben,  Monsieur — but  I  have 
not  the  honor  of  knowing  your  name." 

"Curtis— 

"John  Curtis,  American  journalist." 

Half  an  inch  of  saber  cut  disfigured  the  lieu 
tenant's  left  temple.  Curtis  wondered  at  first 
glance  how  far  it  extended  under  the  flower 
pot  hat.  The  possessor  of  the  cut  was  a  griz 
zled  man  of  fifty,  with  a  short  pointed  beard 
and  a  mustache,  into  the  left  side  of  which 
cigarettes  had  burned  a  semicircular  hole. 
The  Turkish  troops  were  drawn  up  in  march 
ing  order,  dirty,  dust-stained,  faded,  some  of 
them  shoeless,  but  there  was  something  about 
them,  something  in  the  attitude  of  the  bodies 
and  the  obedient  expectancy '  of  the  counte 
nances,  that  suggested  the  soldier. 

Curtis  was  amazed  at  the  amount  of  desola 
tion  which  had  been  accomplished  in  so  short 
a  time.  The  ruffian  hand  of  war  had  wrecked 
the  peaceful  and  idyllic  town  as  a  discontented 
child  smites  a  playhouse  of  blocks.  Every 
thing  combustible  had  been  set  on  fire,  and 
even  from  the  stone  houses  smoke  was  pour 
ing.  Doors  had  been  torn  from  the  hinges, 
windows  smashed  in,  arbors  pulled  down.  The 
fire  in  the  square  filled  the  nostrils  with  the 


138  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

familiar  odor  of  burning  olive  oil.  The  houses 
with  their  denuded  window  holes  reminded 
Curtis  of  men  whose  eyes  had  been  ruthlessly 
gouged  out. 

Lieutenant  Gadben  brought  the  hilt  of  his 
sword  to  his  forehead  and  said  something  to 
the  Captain  in  Turkish.  The  latter  glanced  at 
his  little  army  and  Curtis  followed  his  eye. 
The  men  involuntarily  straightened  up,  stiff 
as  posts. 

Turning  in  his  saddle  Curtis  cast  a  furtive 
glance  at  Panayota.  She  was  sitting  on  a 
mule,  looking  sadly  to  earth.  One  white  hand 
rested  caressingly  on  the  wrist  of  her  father, 
who  stood  by,  holding  to  the  pommel  of  her 
high  pack-saddle.  She  had  tied  a  handker 
chief  about  his  wound.  He  was  a  manly  and 
appealing,  albeit  extraordinary  figure,  as  he 
stood  there  erect,  his  dark  eyes  flashing  scorn 
and  defiance.  His  billowy,  spade-shaped 
beard  covered  his  entire  breast.  He  wore  no 
coat  and  the  enormous  Cretan  breeches  and 
yellow  boots  seemed  to  take  on  added  propor 
tions  for  that  reason.  An  empty  cartridge 
belt,  passed  under  his  right  arm  and  over  his 
left  shoulder,  bore  strange  comradeship  with 
the  cross  that  hung  from  his  neck.  His  dark 
brown  hair,  that  any  woman  might  have  en- 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  BARREL          139 

vied,  fell  quite  to  his  waist  and  rippled  in  the 
breeze.  Even  as  Curtis  looked,  Panayota 
gathered  it  in  her  hands  and  hastily  twisted 
it  into  a  knot.  The  Captain  said  a  few  words 
to  the  Lieutenant,  who,  turning  to  the  ranks, 
pointed  to  four  of  the  men  nearest  him  and 
transmitted  the  order  to  them.  They  saluted, 
and  stacking  their  muskets,  ran  into  the  cafe. 
Instantly  the  huge  oil  crock  fell  across  the  door, 
and  breaking,  gave  up  its  inoffensive  golden 
contents. 

"Monsieur,  you  will  destroy  the  cafe !"  cried 
Curtis  in  alarm. 

Over  went  the  bar  with  a  sound  of  smash 
ing  glass. 

"It  will  take  but  a  moment,"  replied  the 
Captain,  apologetically.  The  tables  and 
benches  were  now  going  into  the  pile  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor. 

"The  rascals  should  have  saved  the  oil  to 
pour  on  their  bonfire,"  remarked  Kostakes 
judicially.  The  sound  of  dull  blows  caused  the 
Captain  to  bend  and  look  in  at  the  door. 

"Hey!  hey!"  he  shouted,  and  gave  an  or 
der.  "I  told  them  not  to  spill  the  wine,  but 
to  roll  the  full  barrels  close  to  the  fire,"  he  ex 
plained  to  Curtis.  "There  is  sure  to  be  one  or 
two  of  them  filled  with  brandy,  and  their  loud 


140  LIKE  ANOTHER  HEI/EN 

explosion  does  more  execution  than  half  a 
dozen  axes." 

Michali's  barrel  was  fourth  from  this  end. 

"Why  the  devil  wasn't  I  born  with  some 
brains  in  my  head?"  groaned  Curtis,  inward 
ly.  "Why  can't  you  think  of  something, 
blockhead?"  He  was  seized  with  an  almost 
uncontrollable  desire  to  butt  his  skull  against 
the  stone  wall  of  the  cafe.  He  knew  that  a 
happy  thought  would  save  poor  Michali,  and 
he  realized  also  that  undue  excitement  on  his 
part  would  betray  everything.  The  picture 
of  his  friend  being  dragged  from  his  hiding 
place  by  his  broken  leg  and  thrust  through 
with  bayonets,  leaped  before  his  imagination. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said,  "I  beg  grace  for  the 
cafe.  Stop  the  soldiers  one  moment  and  I 
will  explain." 

Kostakes  called  to  the  four  vandals  and  they 
desisted. 

"I  beg  of  you,"  he  said  inquiringly  to  Cur 
tis,  "but  pray  be  brief." 

"I  am  the  correspondent  of  the  New  York 
Age.  I  am  neither  Greek  nor  Turk,  I  assure 
you.  I  wish  to  write  glowing  accounts  of  your 
heroism — and  your  magnanimity.  I  have  a 
sentiment  connected  with  the  cafe.  It  is  so 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  BARREL         141 

beautiful.    I  have  written  a  little  poem  about 
it.     It  begins  thus: 

"The  Assyrian  came  down  like  a  wolf  on  the  fold, 
And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  with  purple  and  gold." 

Curtis  beat  off  the  waltz  time  of  the  meter 
with  great  energy. 

"It  sounds  very  beautiful.  What  a  pity  that 
I  do  not  understand  English!  Monsieur's 
sentiment  shall  be  respected.  He  shall  write 
for  his  paper  that  Kostakes  Eff  endi  is  not  only 
a  magnanimous  soldier,  but  a  patron  of  let 
ters." 

The  four  vandals  took  their  places  again  in 
the  ranks.  Kostakes,  waving  his  sword  theat 
rically,  gave  the  order  to  march,  and  they 
were  off  up  the  rocky,  winding  street,  with 
the  little  army  pattering  behind.  As  they 
passed  the  parsonage  Curtis  noticed  that  it 
was  in  ruins,  but  the  festal  wreath  of  yester 
day  hung1  brave  and  bright  above  the  black 
ened  door. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

TO    NO    AVAIL 

THE  priest  strode  by  his  daughter's  side, 
his  hand  still  lying  upon  hers.  As  the 
cavalcade  started  he  shuddered,  and, 
looking  at  Panayota,  sobbed: 

"Oh,  my  daughter!  Would  to  God  you 
were  in  your  grave  beside  your  mother!'* 

She  put  out  her  white  arm,  and  laid  it 
around  his  neck. 

"I  am  my  mother's  child,"  she  replied, 
piously,  "I  shall  find  death  somehow  sooner 
than  dishonor." 

An  occasional  corpse  lay  in  their  path. 
Curtis  observed  with  pleasure  that  red,  woolen 
flower  pots  were  beside  two>  of  the  bodies, 
but  a  wave  of  indignation  and  pity  passed 
over  him  as  his  horse  shied  from  a  cor 
pulent  body,  bent  horribly  over  a  sharp 
backbone  of  rock.  The  head  lolled  downward, 
and  the  pupils  of  the  eyes  were  rolled  upward 
out  of  sight.  There  were  two  red  pits  beneath 
the  eyes,  that  made  the  whites  look  doubly 
ghastly. 

Curtis  lifted  his  hat. 

142 


TO  NO  AYAtL  143 

"Why  do  you  do  that?"  asked  the  Captain. 

"Because  he  died  like  a  brave  man,"  replied 
the  American,  shuddering  as  he  thought  of  the 
jolly  and  hospitable  demarch,  who,  like  an 
heroic  captain  of  a  sinking  ship,  had  remained 
at  his  post  of  duty  until  escape  became  impos 
sible. 

"I  fear  you  like  the  Greeks  better  than  you 
do  the  Turks,"  observed  Kostakes.  "You  do 
not  know  us  yet.  You  will  like  us  better  when 
you  have  been  with  us  a  few  days." 

Curtis  was  determined  to  be  politic.  Only 
thus,  he  foresaw,  could  he  hope  to  be  of  any 
help  to  Panayota. 

"He  stayed  behind  to  fight,  when  he  might 
have  escaped.  Had  he  been  a  Turk,  I  should 
have  taken  off  my  hat  just  the  same." 

They  were  about  to  enter  the  ravine.  From 
their  elevated  position  the  whole  town  was 
visible.  The  American  turned  in  his  saddle 
and  cast  a  glance  backward.  The  smoke  from 
a  score  of  fires  tumbled  heavenward  until, 
commingling,  it  formed  a  somber  roof  above 
the  town,  supported  by  trembling  and  bend 
ing  pillars.  There  was  the  distant  sea — the 
very  spot  where  the  "Holy  Mary"  had  been 
sunk.  The  little  stream,  whose  course  they 


144        :LIKE  ANOTHER  HEI^EN 

had  followed  to  the  ill-fated  town,  looked  no 
larger  than  a  silver    thread.    There  was  the 
square,  ending  in  the  ledge  upon  which  he  had 
first  seen  Panayota  with  the  water  jug  upon 
her  shoulder.     It  had  been  but  a  short  time 
ago,  a  few  hours  comparatively,  and  here  she 
was  now,  a  captive  being  led  away  in  all  prob 
ability  to  a  shameful  fate.     Curtis  seemed  to 
have  lived  ages  in  the  past  few  days,  and  yet 
their  whole  history  flashed  through  his  mind 
during    the    brief    moment    of    this    parting 
glance.     There  was  the  girl,  beautiful,  deso 
late,  defiant,  pure  as  snow;  her  hand  rested 
on  the  shoulder  of  her  father,  in  one  of  those 
pitiful,  yet  sublime  feminine  caresses  that  cry 
"courage"  when  even  God  Himself  seems  to 
fail.    She  was  a  Christian,  the  father  a  Chris 
tian  priest,  and  this  was  the  nineteenth  cen 
tury  of  our  blessed  Lord,  and  there,  but  a  few 
miles  away,  lay  the  great  battleships  of  the 
Christian  powers  of  Europe,  defending  the  in 
tegrity  of  the  Turkish  empire! 

Curtis  gave  such  a  violent  start  that  he  near 
ly  fell  out  of  his  saddle.  Great  heavens,  was  not 
that  the  cafe  on  fire?  The  cafe,  where  he  had 
left  hidden  his  comrade  and  friend,  Michali, 
the  brave,  the  boyish,  the  noble-minded! 


TO  NO  AY  ALL  145 

"Monsieur!"  he  cried,  "the  cafe!  It  is  burn 
ing!" 

"Oh,  I  think  not,"  replied  Kostakes. 

"But  it  is.  I  can  see  it  plainly;  you  must 
send  people  back  to  put  it  out." 

Kostakes  took  a  pair  of  field  glasses  from 
the  hands  of  an  orderly,  and,  calmly  adjust 
ing  the  focus,  looked  down  the  hill,  while  the 
little  army,  escorting  Panayota  and  her  father, 
marched  rapidly  past,  and  were  swallowed  up 
in  the  ravine. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said,  "it  is  indeed  the 
cafe." 

"But  you  are  not  sending  anybody  back  to 
put  it  out!" 

"Monsieur  could  hardly  ask  me  to  do  that 
much  for  sentiment.  Some  of  my  rascals  must 
have  eluded  my  vigilance.  They  shall  be  pun 
ished." 

Curtis  whirled  his  horse  around,  urging  it 
with  his  fists  and  his  sound  foot,  and  started 
back  toward  the  town.  But  the  way  was  steep 
and  rough,  and  the  animal  had  not  gone  ten 
paces  before  two*  soldiers  sprang  to  its  head 
and  seized  the  bridle  on  each  side.  Curtis 
kicked  and  struck  at  them,  and,  suddenly  over 
come  with  a  paroxysm  of  rage,  swore  at  them, 


146  LIKE  ANOTHER  HEJLEN 

but  all  to  no  avail.  They  turned  the  horse 
around  and  led  it  back  to*  Ko'Stakes. 

"Monsieur's  sentiment  must  be  very 
strong,"  said  the  Captain,  smiling  sweetly. 

"There's  a  wounded  man  in  that  building. 
A  wounded  man,  I  tell  you,  and  he'll  burn  up 
alive!" 

Kostakes  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"It  cannot  be  helped,"  he  replied,  "in  war, 
what  is  a  man  more  or  less?  But  we  must  not 
delay.  Allans,  Monsieur." 

And  he  spurred  his  horse  to  a  brisk  walk, 
while  a  stout  Turk,  throwing  the  bridle  rein 
of  Curtis'  animal  over  his  shoulder,  trotted 
along  after. 

The  American  looked  back. 

"I'll  slip  off  and  run  to  the  cafe,"  he 
thought,  "foot  or  no  foot — damn  the  foot, 
anyway!"  But  another  soldier  with  a  loaded 
musket  was  following  close  behind.  In  his 
despair,  the  thought  of  his  passport  occurred 
to  him.  He  pulled  it  from  his  pocket  with 
feverish  haste.  It  was  badly  damaged  by  wa 
ter,  but  it  held  together  and  the  big  seal  was 
still  there.  Urging  his  horse  forward,  he 
flourished  the  document  in  Kostakes'  face 
and  shouted: 

"I  am  an  American  citizen.     Do  you  see 


TO  NO  AVAIL  147 

that?     Vollb!     If  you  do  not  let  me  go  you 
will  suffer  for  it." 

But  all  to  no  avail.  He  was  hustled  along 
by  order  of  the  smiling  and  affable  Kostakes, 
and  the  last  thing  his  eyes  rested  upon  as  he 
plunged  into  the  ravine  was  a  cloud  of  smoke 
pouring  from  the  front  door  of  the  demarch's 
cafe. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IN   THE   TRACK   OF   WAR 

{T  DID  not  require  a  trained  eye  to  see  that 
the  Greeks  had  defended  themselves 
stubbornly  and  had  inflicted  much  more 
injury  than  they  had  suffered.  Curtis  counted 
twenty-five  dead  Turks  in  the  defile.  The  con 
tinual  dread  that  his  horse  should  step  on 
them  kept  him  in  a  state  of  nervousness.  But 
the  animal  evidently  was  possessed  of  as  keen 
sensibilities  as  his  temporary  master,  for  he 
avoided  the  corpses  with  the  most  patent  aver 
sion.  At  a  turn  in  the  pass,  behind  a  jutting 
rock,  lay  two  Greeks.  Curtis  fancied  this  must 
have  been  the  place  where  Michali  had  re 
ceived  his  wound.  It  was  evident  that  a  well- 
organized  and  desperate  stand  had  been  made 
here,  because  in  the  narrowest  part  of  the  pass, 
only  a  few  yards  distant,  lay  seven  Turks  in 
a  heap.  Glancing  back  at  the  two  dead  Greeks, 
under  the  impression  that  he  recognized  one 
of  them,  the  American  beheld  a  sight  at  once 
noble  and  disgusting.  The  priest  had  lingered 
and  was  leaning  toward  his  slain  compatriots, 
making  the  sign  of  the  cross  with  solemn  ges- 

148 


IN  THE  TRACK  OF  WAR  149 

tures,  the  while  he  cried  in  tones  sorrowful 
and  defiant. 

"I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life;  he  that 
believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet 
shall  he  live;  and  whosoever  liveth  and  believ 
eth  in  me  shall  never  die." 

Panayota,  her  glorious  eyes  streaming  with 
tears,  her  white  hands  clasped  to  her  bosom, 
was  looking  to  heaven  and  silently  praying. 
Curtis  felt  his  soul  uplifted.  The  narrow  walls 
of  the  ravine  changed  to  the  dim  aisle  of  a 
cathedral;  he  seemed  to  hear  a  grand  organ 
pealing  forth  a  funeral  march. 

"Death  is  swallowed  up  in  victory.  O 
death,  where  is  thy  sting?  O  grave,  where 
is  thy  victory?" 

When  he  opened  his  eyes  he  found  himself 
in  hell.  Two  or  three  Turks,  grinning  with 
diabolical  hate  and  derision,  were  spitting  at 
the  dead  Cretans.  The  soldier  directly  behind 
Papa-Maleko  was  jabbing  him  in  the  back 
viciously  with  the  butt  of  his  musket,  while 
another  touched  him  playfully  between 
the  shoulders  with  the  point  of  a  bayonet. 
The  priest  shrank  from  the  steel  with  a  gasp 
of  pain,  but  turned  back  as  he  stumbled  along 
chanting: 

"Thanks  be  to  God,  which  giveth  us  the 


150  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

victory  through  Jesus  Christ,  our  Lord, 
amen!" 

A  little  farther  on  they  came  upon  a  sight 
which  made  Curtis  reel  in  his  saddle — the  bod 
ies  of  the  seven  peasant  girls  who  had  leaped 
over  the  cliff:  Four  lay  together  in  a  heap. 
Of  the  remaining  three,  one  had  fallen  face 
down  upon  a  rock,  and  her  long  hair,  shaken 
loose,  rippled  earthward  from  the  white  nape 
of  her  neck.  Another  was  sleeping  the  last 
sleep  peacefully,  her  head  upon  her  out 
stretched  arm,  a  smile  upon  her  lips;  and  still 
a  third  lay  upon  her  back.  This  one  seemed  to 
have  suffered,  for  there  was  a  look  of  terror  in 
the  staring  eyes.  Again  the  priest  lifted  his 
voice. 

"I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,"  but 
the  solemn  chant  was  this  time  interrupted 
by  a  shriek  from  Panayota.  Curtis,  who  had 
resolutely  turned  his  face  from  the  scene  of 
fascinating  horror,  looked  back  quickly  at  the 
sound.  A  slender  young  girl  had  arisen  upon 
her  elbow,  and  was  stretching  her  hand  im 
ploringly  toward  the  priest.  The  hand  was 
brown  and  chubby,  but  the  arm  from  which 
the  flowing  sleeve  had  slipped  away,  was  very 
white  and  shapely.  She  was  dying  even  then, 
but  the  blessed  words  of  her  mother's  faith  and 


IN  THE  TRACK  OF  WAR  151 

her  mother's  tongue  had  pierced  her  swoon 
ing  ears  and  she  had  paused  at  the  very  thresh 
old  of  death  for  the  priest's  benediction.  A 
Turkish  soldier  thrust  her  through  the  neck 
with  his  bayonet,  and  her  head  dropped  softly 
upon  the  bosom  of  a  dead  fellow. 

"But  this  is  barbarous,"  cried  Curtis.  "The 
civilized  world  shall  know  of  this.  Barbarous, 
I  say,  uncivilized — you  an  officer?  A  gentle 
man?  Bah!" 

"But  Monsieur  is  too  violent  and  hasty," 
replied  Kostakes.  "Irregularities  happen  in 
all  armies.  The  man  shall  be  punished." 

"If  he  is  to  be  shot,"  said  the  American, 
"please  put  me  in  the  firing  squad !" 

Emerging  from  the  pass,  they  came  to  a 
steep,  wooded  ravine,  and  their  path  led 
through  an  aisle  of  tall  pine  trees.  The  feet 
of  the  soldiers  made  no  noise  on  the  carpet  of 
fallen  spines.  They  found  four  more  dead 
Turks  and  picked  up  two  that  were  wounded. 
After  about  an  hour  of  forced  marching  the 
ravine  spread  out  into  a  beautiful  sunlit  valley, 
whereon  the  new  plowed  ground  lay  in 
patches  of  rich  brown,  terra-cotta  and  black 
loam.  The  vines  were  just  putting  forth  their 
pale  green  sprouts.  The  laborers  had  been 
surprised  in  the  act  of  heaping  conical 


152  MICE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

mounds  about  the  roots,  and  an  occasional 
discarded  mattock  betokened  hasty  flight. 
Poppies  lifted  everywhere  their  slender- 
stemmed,  scarlet  beakers — such  glasses  in 
shape  as  are  fit  to  hold  the  vintage  of  the 
Rhine.  The  little  slopes  were  set  thick  with 
candelabras  of  the  ghostly  asphodel,  whose 
clusters  of  pale-pinkish,  waxen  flowers  seemed 
indeed  to  belong  to  regions  where  the  dear 
sun  is  but  a  memory.  Scattering  fruit  trees, 
in  the  full  revel  and  glory  of  their  snowy 
bloom  called  to  each  other  with  perfume. 

It  was  some  time  after  noon  now,  but  they 
stopped  neither  to  eat  nor  rest.  Curtis'  foot 
began  to  pain  him  fearfully,  but  he  made  no 
sign.  In  the  midst  of  such  desolation,  he  felt 
pain  to  be  a  trivial  thing.  The  vines  were 
here,  but  where  were  the  toilers?  The  pear 
trees  were  in  bloom,  but  where  were  the 
laughing  children,  the  wives  and  maidens  with 
wine  and  bread  for  the  midday  feast?  Once 
they  passed  a  shock-headed  boy  of  fourteen, 
or  possibly  younger,  lying  dead  in  a  vineyard, 
with  his  mattock  beside  him,  and  later  in  the 
day  they  came  upon  a  plow  in  the  unfinished 
furrow.  One  of  the  oxen  was  dead,  and  the 
other  great  beast  had  struggled  to  his  feet 


IN  THE  TRACK  OF  WAR  153 

and  stood  patiently  beside  the  body  of  his 
mate. 

After  that  their  path  led  for  a  way  through 
a  field  of  half-grown  wheat.  Around  nearly 
every  shoot  the  sweet  wild-pea  had  twined  its 
graceful  spiral,  bravely  lifting  the  pretty  blue 
of  the  flowers  among  the  pale  green  of  the 
grain.  When  the  wind  swept  over  the  field 
it  looked  like  changeable  silk. 

Toward  sunset  they  came  within  seeing  dis 
tance  of  a  white  village  on  a  mountain  side. 
A  vast  olive  orchard  surrounded  it  and  a  doz 
en  or  more  dark  green  cypress  trees  pointed 
heavenward  among  the  houses,  like  spires. 

"Voilh,  Monsieur,"  cried  Kostakes,  gaily. 
"There  we  shall  rest  to-night,,  and  shall  find 
time  to  eat.  Are  you  hungry?" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  DESERTED  TOWN 

AN  AIR  of  indescribable  sadness  hangs 
over  a  deserted  town.  Any  one  who 
has  ever  passed  through  a  shepherd 
village,  from  which  the  inhabitants  have  gone 
for  the  summer,  expecting  to  return  again 
when  the  first  snows  of  autumn  drive  them 
down  from  the  mountains,  has  experienced 
this  feeling.  Here  is  the  fountain,  where  the 
slender,  merry  maidens  met  at  sundown,  to 
gossip  and  fill  their  water  jars ;  here  is  the  cafe, 
where  the  old  men  gathered  together  under 
the  platane  tree  and  smoked  and  dreamed  of 
the  long  ago;  here  is  a  secret  nook,  guarded 
by  sweet  poverty  vines,  where  lovers  held  tryst 
in  the  fragrant  twilight.  But  all  is  lonely, 
lonely. 

The  waters  splash  with  a  melancholy  sound, 
the  tables  and  chairs  are  gone  from  under  the 
platane  tree  and  the  lovers — let  us  hope  they 
are  fled  together.  The  spirit  of  loneliness 
dwells  where  man  has  been  and  is  not — in  a 
tenantless  house,  in  the  chamber  of  death,  by 
the  embers  of  a  camp  fire  in  a  vast  wilderness. 

154 


A  DESERTED  TOWN  155 

As  you  follow  the  streets  of  a  deserted  town 
you  hear  nothing  but  the  splash,  splash  of  the 
waters  of  the  fountain  or  the  enquiring  twit 
ter  of  some  little  bird.  Perhaps  a  cat,  tamed 
more  by  solitude  than  by  hunger,  tiptoes  to 
meet  you,  purring  with  diplomatic  fervor.  But 
these  sounds  do  not  break  the  silence,  they 
are  its  foil,  its  background. 

Galata  was  deserted  because  its  inhabitants 
had  fled  two  days  before  from  the  terrible 
Turk.  Thanks  to  a  timely  warning,  most  of 
the  people  had  succeeded  in  getting  away, 
though  an  occasional  corpse  proved  how  nar 
row  had  been  the  escape  of  the  entire  popu 
lation  from  sudden  death. 

Kostakes  and  his  little  troop  now  marched 
through  an  olive  orchard,  whbse  gnarled  and 
venerable  trunks  had  perhaps  witnessed  the 
cruelties  of  the  only  oppressors  worse  than  the 
Turk — the  haughty,  treacherous  and  inhu 
man  Venetians;  they  climbed  a  flight  of  steps 
cut  in  the  natural  rock  and  followed  a  street 
paved  with  cobblestones  from  the  walls  of 
partly  ruined  houses  to  the  village  square. 

Here  the  men  stacked  arms  and  dispersed 
among  the  houses,  looking  for  temporary 
quarters.  Curtis  could  not  help  admiring  the 
soldierly  way  in  which  everything  was  done. 
In  ten  minutes  after  their  arrival  the  square 


156         :LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

looked  like  a  little  Indian  village  filled  with 
wigwams  of  muskets,  and  sentries  were  pacing 
patiently  up  and  down  at  all  possible  places 
of  approach.  This  was  evidently  a  town  of 
considerable  importance,  as  some  of  the 
houses  facing  the  square  were  two-storied, 
and  in  one  or  two  instances  the  projecting 
beams  supporting  the  balconies  were  of  carved 
marble.  The  fountain,  too,  that  stood  be 
neath  a  disheveled  willow,  whose  roots  drank 
at  the  overflowing  waters,  was  of  marble. 

Three  carven  swans,  the  successive  wonder 
of  as  many  generations  of  unkempt  children, 
swam  full-breasted  from  a  square  pedestal, 
each  hissing  a  clear,  thin  stream  into  a  circular 
stone  basin.  An  inscription  informed  pos 
terity  that  the  marble  hero  who  sat  atop  of  the 
inevitable  column  was  Petros  Nikolaides, 
former  mayor  of  Galata, — an  euergetes  of  im 
perishable  memory.  Mr.  Nikolaides,  with 
white  goggle  eyes,  looked  over  the  house  tops, 
the  olives  and  cypresses  and  a\vay  to  the  dis 
tant  purple  hills.  His  chin  was  small  and 
cloven  with  a  deep  dimple  and  one  side  of  his 
drooping  mustache  had  been  stoned  away 
twenty  years  ago  by  mischievous  boys. 

Panayota  and  her  father  were  led  to  a  re 
spectable  looking  stone  house  facing  the 


A  DESERTED  TOWN  157 

fountain  and  two  sentries  were  stationed  be 
fore  the  door. 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Kostakes  amiably  to  Cur 
tis,  "we  shall  be  quite  comfortable  here,  eh? 
Will  you  do  me  the  honor  to  dine  with  me?" 

"I  shall  be  delighted,"  replied  the  Ameri 
can.  "It  is  I  who  shall  receive  the  honor." 

"No,  no!  I  protest,  Monsieur.  It's  quite 
the  other  way.  We'll  have  a  table  set  here 
under  this  tree.  Ah,  we  shall  be  very  cozy. 
Voila!  I  shall  be  able  to  offer  you  some  fresh 
cheese.  If  there's  anything  left,  trust  to  my 
rascals  for  finding  it!" 

A  soldier  was  dragging  a  stuffed  goat-skin 
from  the  door  of  a  grocery.  At  a  sign  from 
Kostakes,  he  set  it  on  end,  and  ripped  open 
the  top  with  his  knife,  disclosing  the  snowy 
contents. 

"Voila,  Monsieur!  And  no  doubt  we  shall 
be  able  to  find  you  some  excellent  wine, 
though  you  must  excuse  me  from  joining  you 
in  that.  Mohammedans  do  not  drink  wine." 

Kostakes  leaped  lightly  to  the  ground,  and 
gave  his  horse  to  an  orderly.  Kostakes  was  a 
handsome  young  fellow,  almost  boyish,  and 
yet  with  an  insolent,  aristocratic  air.  His  fea- 
tures"se'emed  to  combine  sensualism  and  cruel 
ty  with  a  certain  refinement.  His  lips  were 


158  JjIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

too  thick  and  too  red,  and  his  chin  was  square. 
It  was  evident  at  a  glance  that  his  under  front 
teeth  closed  even  with  the  uppers.  His  nose 
was  his  cruel,  sensitive  feature.  It  came  down 
straight  from  his  forehead,  thin  as  a  knife- 
blade,  and  the  nostrils  had  a  way  of  trembling 
when  he  talked.  Curtis  threw  his  good  leg 
over  the  horse's  mane,  and  sat,  woman  fash 
ion,  eyeing  the  Turk.  He  could  not,  some 
how,  reconcile  this  gentlemanly,  smiling 
young  officer  with  the  nightmare  that  contin 
ually  haunted  him — Michali  in  the  burning 
building,  wounded  and  screaming  vainly  for 
help.  There  was  a  sort  of  ghostly  relief  in  the 
reflection  that  the  poor  fellow  must  have  been 
over  his  sufferings  long  ago.  But  to  burn  to 
death!  Ugh!  How  long  does  it  take  a  man  to 
burn  to  death? 

"Does  your  foot  pain  you?'*  asked  Kos- 
takes,  with  genuine  solicitude.  "If  those  bar 
barian  Greeks  had  not  shot  my  surgeon — 
very  cruel  people  the  Greeks,  especially  the 
Cretan  Greeks.  When  you  know  them  better 
you  will  find  that  they  are  not  half-civilized." 

"If  you  will  let  one  of  your  men  help  me 
dismount,"  said  jCurtis,  "I  will  take  a  wash.  I 
am  glad  to  see  that  dinner  is  so  nearly  ready. 
I  assure  you  I  am  half  famished." 


A  DESERTED  TOWN  159 

"One  of  my  soldiers,  Monsieur!  I  would 
never  permit  such  a  thing.  I  will  help  you 
myself.  So — so!  Ah!  How  is  the  foot?" 

The  American  placed  the  wounded  member 
on  the  ground  and  attempted  to  bear  his 
weight  upon  it.  To  his  surprise,  it  seemed 
much  better.  But  a  happy  thought,  an  inspi 
ration,  took  possession  of  him.  He  seized  the 
leg  tightly  with  his  hands  above  the  knee 
and  sank  upon  the  edge  of  the  water  basin. 
"I — I  believe  it's  worse!"  he  groaned. 
" Allah  forbid!"  cried  the  Turk.  "It  is  from 
the  long  ride.  When  you  have  rested  it  will 
be  better.  Now  let  us  wash  and  eat  some 
thing — a  soldier's  frugal  meal." 

Curtis  attacked  the  repast  with  the  zest  of 
a  ravenous  appetite.  The  salt  cheese,  the 
brown  bread  and  the  country  wine  seemed  to 
him  viands  fit  for  the  gods.  The  orderly 
brought  several  heads  of  long  Italian  lettuce, 
which  he  washed  at  the  fountain  and  cut 
lengthwise.  They  ate  it  like  asparagus  or 
celery,  dipping  it  in  salt.  The  American 
thought  it  delicious,  and  rightly.  He  would 
never  again  be  able  to  relish  the  pale,  tasteless 
chips  sold  in  America  for  lettuce  at  brigand 
prices.  He  saw  that  Panayota  and  her  father 
were  also  eating. 


l6o  UKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"Sensible  girl,"  thought  Curtis;  "means  to 
keep  her  strength  up.  We'll  outwit  these 
Turks  yet." 

He  touched  glasses  with  Kostakes,  who 
was  disposed  to  be  convivial,  albeit  in  water. 

"Do  you  know,  Monsieur  le  Capitaine,"  Cur 
tis  said,  "I  cannot  decide  which  is  the  greater 
sensation — the  pleasure  of  eating  or  the  pain  of 
my  foot.  Do  you  think,  if  blood  poisoning 
should  set  in,  you  have  anybody  here  who 
could  amputate  it?" 

"Now,  Allah  forbid!"  cried  the  Turk  again. 
"By  day  after  to-morrow  we  shall  reach  a  Mo 
hammedan  village,  and  there  we  shall  find  a 
doctor/' 


CHAPTER  XIX 
A  BLOW  IN  THE  DARK 

CURTIS  shared  the  quarters  of  his  ami 
able    host,    Kostakes    Effendi,    in   the 
front  room  of  the  grocery.     Panayota 
and  her  father  slept  next  door.     The  Amer 
ican's  bed  consisted  of  blankets  laid  upon  two 
tables,  placed  side  by  side.    As  the  blankets 
had  been  prodigally  bestowed  he  found  the 
couch  sufficiently  comfortable.    He  lay  on  his 
back  with  his  arms  under  his  head,  gazing  out 
into    the   moonlit    square.      Despite   the    fa 
tigue  and  excitement  of  the  day,  he  was  not 
in     the     least    sleepy.       The    Cretan    night 
was  too  intense.    The  moonlight,  wherever  it 
fell,  was  passionately  white,  and  the  shadows 
of  things  were  as  black  and  distinct  as  though 
sketched    in    charcoal.      Rows    of    soldiers 
wrapped  in  their  blankets  were  sleeping  in  the 
square.  Occasionally  one  sat  up,  looked  about, 
and  then  lay  down  again.      Once,  when  he 
was  about  to  drowse   off,  he   was  roused  to 
consciousness  by  a    faint  mewing  overhead, 
and  called  softly : 
"Kitty!  kitty!" 

161 


162  UKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

The  mewing  ceased,  for  oriental  cats  are 
summoned  by  means  of  a  whistle  between  the 
teeth,  similar  to  the  sound  made  by  a  peanut 
roaster. 

'That's  the  grocer's  cat,"  mused  Curtis. 
"Poor  animal,  she  doesn't  know  what's  hap 
pened.  She  was  asking  me  as  plain  as  day,' 
'Do  you  know  where  my  folks  are?'  Now, 
the  dog  probably  went  with  the  old  man,  but 
cats  are  different — the  cat  and  the  mortgage 
stick  to  the  old  homestead.  I  must  make  a 
note  of  that.  Let's  see.  How  do  the  Greeks 
call  their  felines?  Ts-whs-whs.'  That's  it. 
Pa-whs-whs!" 

A  scrambling  overhead,  and  a  bolder 
"meouw !"  rewarded  the  effort.  Pussy  was  be 
tween  the  tile  roof  and  a  covering  of  reeds 
that,  nailed  to  the  rafters,  answered  the  pur 
pose  of  lath  and  plaster. 

"Ps-whs-whs!" 

"Meouw!"  still  more  confidently,  and  the 
sound  of  cautious  feet  on  dry  reeds.  Kos- 
takes  sat  up  on  his  table  and  rubbed  his  eyes. 

"Are  you  awake,  too,  Monsieur?" 

"Meouw!"  said  pussy  again. 

"Ah,  the  cat  keeps  you  awake.  If  I  were 
a  Greek,  now,  I  should  order  it  killed,  but  we 


A  BLOW  IN  THE  DARK  163 

Turks  are  very  merciful.  I  will  order  the  sen 
try  to  drive  it  away." 

"No,  no,  I  beg  of  you.  I  was  holding  a  lit 
tle  conversation  with  it.  I  cannot  sleep,  my 
leg  pains  me  so.  I  fear  that  gangrene  is  set 
ting  in." 

" Allah  forbid!  It  is  from  the  fatigue.  We 
shall  have  a  surgeon  soon."  Kostakes  was  too 
good  a  soldier  to  keep  awake. 

"Good  night  again,  Monsieur,"  he  said, 
and  turned  over. 

Outside  the  nightingales  were  calling  each 
other  from  far,  tremulous  distances.  The  wa 
ters  of  the  fountain  splashed  and  gurgled  un 
ceasingly.  Curtis'  senses  became  more  and 
more  acute.  Sounds  that  he  could  not  hear 
a  moment  ago  became  audible  now,  without 
growing  louder.  He  heard  the  plying  of  axes, 
and  once  the  sound  of  a  hammer,  followed  by 
laughter. 

"What  the  deuce  are  they  up  to?"  he  mut 
tered.  "Are  they  building  a  fortification  of 
any  kind?  I've  got  to  do  some  tall  thinking 
in  the  morning.  Somehow  or  other  I  must 
get  away  with  that  girl.  But  how?  how? 
I'll  make  Kostakes  believe  I'm  lamer  than  I 
really  am,  and  he  won't  watch  me  so  close. 
But  I  must  have  an  opportunity.  No  man 


1 64  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

can  do  anything  without  an  opportunity — 
and  that  isn't  so  bad,  either.  I  must  make  a 
note  of  that  in  the  morning.  Let's  see,  what's 
that  other  thing  I  thought  of?  H'm — hang 
it,  I've  forgotten  it." 

"Meouw !"  said  kitty. 

"That's  it,  by  Jove!  Cats  and  mortgages/' 

For  fully  an  hour  the  American  invented 
and  discarded  schemes  for  escaping  with  Pan- 
ayota.  He  tried  to  think  of  passages  in  nov 
els  describing  the  rescue  of  captive  maidens 
by  heroes  like  himself,  but  fairy  tales  of  en 
chanted  carpets  and  wishing  caps  persisted  in 
running  through  his  head,  to  the  exclusion 
of  more  practical  methods. 

"I  must  watch  for  an  opportunity,"  he  ex 
claimed,  aloud,  bringing  his  fist  down  upon 
the  table.  "If  I  can't  do  any  better  I'll  stick 
to  Kostakes  till  we  get  to  Canea,  and  then  I'll 
put  the  matter  in  the  hands  of  the  English 
consul.  Hello!  What's  that!" 

He  was  sure  he  heard  a  dull,  crushing  blow, 
followed  by  a  moan  and  the  sound  of  some 
one  falling.  He  listened  for  a  long  time,  but 
heard  nothing  more,  and  yet  he  was  conscious 
of  a  sense  of  horror,  as  though  he  had  just 
awakened  from  a  nightmare.  He  rubbed  his 
eyes  and  pinched  himself. 


A  BL.OW  IN  THE  DARK  165 

"I'm  awake,"  he  thought,  "and  yet  I  feel 
as  though  a  murder  had  been  committed. 
Lord,  but  I'm  all  haired  up!  If  this  keeps  on 
I  shall  turn  spiritualistic  medium.  I  wonder 
if  I  can  see  the  folks  at  home?"  And  he  shut 
his  eyes  and  fixed  his  mind  upon  his  father 
and  mother. 

"Let's  see,  now,  what  time  of  day  is  it  in 
Boston?" 

He  was  awakened  from  his  reverie  by  the 
voice  of  Panayota,  violent  and  pleading,  by 
turns;  one  moment  mingled  with  sobs  and  the 
next  angry.  She  was  demanding  "Where  is 
my  father?"  and  asking  for  Kostakes.  The 
latter  sat  up  and  listened  for  a  moment.  Then 
hastily  buckling  on  his  belt  and  throwing  his 
cloak  over  his  shoulders,  he  went  out.  Curtis, 
who  was  not  undressed,  followed  him.  As  he 
passed  through  the  door,  one  of  the  guards 
seized  him,  but  he  struck  viciously  at  the  sol 
dier  and  cried  so  angrily,  "Let  go  of  me  or  I'll 
punch  you!"  that  the  Captain  looked  around 
and  spoke  two  or  three  words  sharply  to  the 
guard,  who  released  him.  Suddenly  remem 
bering  that  he  was  very  lame,  he  sat  down 
upon  the  edge  of  the  fountain.  Panayota  was 
standing  in  the  door  of  her  lodging,  in  the 
full  moonlight.  Her  attitude,  her  voice,  her 


166  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

face,  were  eloquent  of  terror  and  despair.  As 
soon  as  she  saw  Kostakes  she  stretched  her 
arms  towards  him  and  cried: 

"Don't  let  them  kill  my  father.  Bring  him 
back  to  me,  please,  please!" 

"Why,  certainly,  my  own  Panayota.  You 
know  that  I  would  not  harm  you  nor  any  one 
belonging  to  you.  But  where  is  your  fath 
er?" 

"He  asked  the  guard  to  bring  him  a  drink 
of  water,  and  the  guard  told  him  to  come  out 
and  get  it.  And  he  hasn't  come  back,  I  tell 
you ;  he  hasn't  come  back.  O,  Mother  of  God, 
help!  help!  Don't  let  them  kill  him." 

"I  see  it  all,"  cried  Kostakes;  "he  has  es 
caped,"  and  he  questioned  the  bystanding  sol 
diers  in  Turkish. 

"Yes,  my  Panayota.  He  has  taken  advan 
tage  of  my  kindness.  I  ordered  that  he  be  not 
bound  and  that  he  be  treated  with  every  con 
sideration — for  your  sake,  dear  Panayota!" 
Here  his  voice  became  low  and  tender  and  he 
moved  nearer.  The  Turk  was,  indeed,  a  gal 
lant  figure  in  the  moonlight,  leaning  grace 
fully  on  his  sword,  the  cape  of  his  long  mili 
tary  cloak  thrown  back  over  his  shoulder. 

"You  hear  the  men;  they  say  that  he  darted 
away  and  that  they  ran  after  him,  but  could 


A  BLOW  ESP  THE  DARK  167 

not  catch  him.  Had  it  been  anybody  else, 
they  would  have  shot  him  down.  But  I  had 
ordered  them  not  to  injure  him  under  any  cir 
cumstances.  This  I  did  for  you,  my  Panayota, 
because  I  love  you.  It  is  you  who — " 

"Murderer!"  screamed  Panayota,  leaning 
toward  him  with  a  look  of  pale  hate,  the  while 
she  fixed  him  with  a  long  accusing  finger. 
"Murderer — Oh, don't  deny  it!  Coward!  Liar! 
You  come  to  me  red  with  my  father's  blood 
and  talk  to  me  of  love.  Apostate!  Renegade! 
Where  is  my  father,  eh?  You  perjured 
Greek,  where  is  my  father?" 

Stepping  down  from  the  door,  majestic  as 
a  goddess,  she  advanced  toward  Kostakes 
with  arm  extended. 

He  shrank  slightly  from  her  and  looked 
uneasily  to  right  and  left,  to  avoid  her  eye. 

"But,  my  dear  Panayota,  you  shouldn't 
give  way  to  your  temper  like  that.  You 
wrong  me,  really  you  do.  I  assure  you,  your 
good  father  has  escaped." 

She  dropped  her  arm  heavily  to  her  side. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  solemnly,  "escaped  from 
a  world  of  murderers  and  liars.  Gone  where 
there  is  no  more  killing  and  burning;  where 
there  are  no  Turks  and  no  renegades — gone, 
Kostakes  Effendi,  where  you  must  meet  him 


168  JLIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

again,  with  the  brand  of  Cain  upon  your 
brow!" 

Turning,  she  walked  back  to  the  house,  but 
stopped  in  the  door  and  said: 

"Do  you  know  how  those  are  punished  in 
hell  who  renounce  the  religion  of  Christ  and 
become  Turks?  And  what  torture  awaits 
you,  renegade  and  murderer  of  a  Christian 
priest?  Kill,  kill,  give  up  your  life  to  deeds 
of  blood.  Never  think  of  forgiveness.  There 
is  no  forgiveness  for  such  as  you.  Your  place 
in  hell  is  already  chosen.  They  are  even  now 
preparing  the  torments  for  you.  O  God," 
and  she  raised  her  hands  as  one  praying,  "may 
this  man's  deeds  find  him  out,  in  this  world 
and  in  the  next.  May  he  be  haunted  night 
and  day  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  May  he  die 
a  violent  and  shameful  death,  and  his  memory 
be  held  in  disgust.  May  his  soul  go  to  the 
place  of  torment,  and  be  tortured  forever. 
For  he  has  renounced  the  Son  of  God,  and 
has  slain  his  holy  minister!" 

She  disappeared  within  the  house,  and  Cur 
tis  heard  her  sobbing  in  the  darkness,  "Papa! 
Papa!" 

Kostakes  filled  the  cup  which  hung  from 
the  pillar  of  the  fountain  by  a  chain,  and  took 


A  BLiOW  IN  THE  DARK  169 

a  long  drink.  He  was  trembling  so  that  the 
tin  vessel  rattled  against  his  teeth. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  he  exclaimed,  observing  Cur 
tis.  "Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  unrea 
sonable  as  a  woman?  Here  is  her  father  run 
away,  and  she  accuses  me  of  killing  him,  and 
consigns  me  to  eternal  torment.  Really,  she 
has  made  me  quite  nervous.  If  I  were  not 
innocent,  I  should  really  fear  her  curses." 
And  he  took  another  drink  of  the  cool  water. 

Curtis  thought  of  the  dull,  crushing  blow 
and  the  groan  that  he  had  heard,  and  he  in 
voluntarily  moved  a  little  away  from  the  hand 
some  and  affable  Kostakes,  who  had  sat  down 
by  him  on  the  rim  of  the  basin. 

"What  do  you  keep  the  girl  for,  anyway?" 
he  made  bold  to  ask.  "You  surely  would  not 
force  her  to  join  your — your  harem,  against 
her  consent?" 

Kostakes  sighed. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said,  "is  a  poet.  He  will 
understand  and  sympathize  with  me.  I  love 
Panayota.  I  would  make  her  my  sole  wife 
in  honorable  marriage.  I  desire  no  other 
woman  but  her.  Bah!  What  are  other 
women  compared  to  her?  Is  she  not  magnifi 
cent?  I  could  not  help  loving  her,  even  just 
now,  when  she  was  cursing  me.  It  is  true 


170  3LLKE  ANOTHER  HEI/EN 

that  I  am  part  Greek  by  extraction,  and  that 
I  was  baptized  into  the  Greek  church,  and 
that  I  have  become  a  Turk.  But  what  is  re 
ligion  compared  with  love?  Panayota  is  all 
the  heaven  I  want.  I  am  willing  to  turn 
Greek  again  and  have  a  Christian  wedding, 
if  she  would  take  me." 

"Aren't  you  conducting  your  courtship  in 
rather  a  violent  manner?"  asked  the  Amer 
ican.  "In  my  country  your  conduct  would 
be  thought,  to  say  the  least,  irregular." 

"Have  you  in  English  the  proverb,  'All 
things  are  fair  in  love  and  war?' ' 

"Certainly." 

"Well,  you  see  this  is  both  love  and  war. 
I  have  possession  of  Panayota,  and  I  mean 
to  treat  her  so  well  that  she  shall  love  me. 
Not  a  hair  of  her  head  shall  be  touched  until 
she  marries  me  of  her  own  free  will." 

"But  your  wives?"  asked  Curtis.  "How 
many  have  you  of  them?" 

The  Captain  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Three,"  he  replied.  "Dumpy,  silly  crea 
tures.  A  Mohammedan  has  not  much  diffi 
culty  in  getting  rid  of  his  wives." 

Curtis  arose. 

"If  you  will  help  me  to  the  house,"  he  said, 
"I  will  try  to  get  a  little  sleep." 


A  BLOW  IN  THE  DARK  I71 

Kostakes  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Lean  on  my  shoulder,"  he  said.  "So,  so, 
how  is  the  leg?" 

"Bad,  very  bad.  I'm  really  worried  about 
it.  Do  I  bear  down  on  you  too  heavily?" 


CHAPTER  XX 

FOUR  AGAINST   ONE 

THE  sound  of  a  reveille  awoke  Curtis, 
and  he  looked  out  into  the  dim,  dewy 
morning.  The  wigwams  of  muskets 
had  disappeared,  and  the  little  army  had  al 
ready  fallen  in.  Several  horses,  saddled  and 
bridled,  stood  by  the  village  fountain.  One, 
a  young  and  sleek  charger,  was  impatiently 
pawing  the  earth  and  another  was  drinking. 
Kostakes  was  sitting  at  a  table,  giving  some 
orders  to  his  second  in  command,  the  veteran 
with  the  scar.  A  sword  attached  to  a  leather 
belt  kept  company  on  the  cloth  with  a  pile 
of  eggs,  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  pot  of  steam 
ing  coffee. 

"Bon  jour/'  cried  the  Captain  gaily,  spring 
ing  to  his  feet,  as  he  espied  the  American. 
"How  have  you  slept,  and  how  is  the  foot?" 

"I  got  a  little  sleep,  despite  the  pain,  but 
the  foot  seems  no  better.  I  am  getting  very 
anxious  to  see  that  doctor  of  yours." 

'To-morrow,  I  promise  you  without  fail. 
And  now  for  breakfast,  as  we  must  be  off." 

The  Captain  and  his  Lieutenant  ran  to  the 

172 


FOUR  AGATNTST  ONE  173 

American,  who  put  an  arm  about  the  neck 
of  each  and  hopped  to  the  table,  groaning  os 
tentatiously.  After  the  hurried  breakfast, 
Panayota  was  summoned.  She  came  forth, 
pale  as  death,  a  beautiful,  living  statue  of  de 
spair.  Kostakes  offered  to  help  her,  but  she 
repulsed  him  with  loathing,  and  climbed  into 
her  saddle  as  a  refuge  from  his  attentions. 
There  were  dark  circles  under  her  swollen  eyes. 
As  she  looked  about  her,  as  though  in  hopeless 
search  for  the  missing  dear  one,  her  features 
trembled  on  the  verge  of  tears.  Groaning: 

"Ach,  my  God!"  She  clasped  her  hands 
tightly  in  her  lap  and  stared  into  vacancy. 
Her  beautiful  hair  was  disheveled  and  her 
long  white  cuffs  were  wrinkled  and  soiled. 
The  chivalry  in  Curtis'  nature  prompted  him 
to  speak  and  comfort  her,  although  the  words 
sounded  hollow  and  false  to  his  own  ear. 

"Take  comfort,"  he  said,  "your  father  is 
surely  alive.  Believe  me,  he  has  escaped." 

She  smiled  sadly. 

"You  do  not  know  the  Turks,"  she  replied. 

"Did  I  not  tell  you,  my  darling?"  cried  Kos 
takes  eagerly,  "of  course  he  has  escaped." 

She  did  not  even  look  at  him,  but  mur 
mured: 

"Murderer!   perjurer!" 


174  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

Kostakes  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  who 
would  say,  "See!"  and  turning  to  Curtis  cried: 

"But  Monsieur  speaks  Greek  famously!" 

"Only  a  few  words  and  those  with  much 
difficulty." 

"Mais  non!  On  the  contrary  I  find  your 
Greek  very  perfect.  And  now  allons!" 

They  pushed  briskly  up  the  narrow  street, 
through  a  scene  of  utter  desolation.  The 
whirlwind  of  war  had  struck  the  town  and 
wrecked  it.  As  they  turned  a  corner  a  long- 
legged,  half-grown  fowl  broke  for  cover  and 
tilted  away,  balancing  its  haste  with  awkward, 
half-fledged  wings.  They  came  unexpectedly 
upon  a  little  Orthodox  church  and  a  putrid 
odor  assailed  Curtis'  nostrils.  Their  path  led 
them  around  to  the  front  door. 

"My  God !"  he  gasped.  A  sight  had  met  his 
eyes  that  was  destined  to  thrill  him  with  sick 
ness  and  horror  to  the  latest  day  of  his  life,  as 
often  as  the  black  phantom  of  its  recollection 
should  arise  in  his  mind.  The  village  priest,  an 
old,  gray-bearded  man,  had  died  about  a  month 
before  and  had  been  buried  in  his  robes. 
There  was  the  body,  hanging  to  its  own 
church  door,  like  the  skin  of  a  great  black 
bat.  Nails  had  been  driven  through  the 
clothing  at  the  shoulders,  and  the  weight  of 


FOUR  AGAINST  ONE  175 

the  carcass,  sinking  down  into  the  loose  gar 
ment,  had  left  it  pulled  up  above  the  head  into 
the  semblance  of  joints  in  a  vampire's  wings. 

From  a  bonfire  of  bones,  half-decayed 
corpses  and  sacred  eikons — the  last  named 
gathered  from  the  houses  and  the  church- — • 
a  disgusting  odor  arose  and  filled  the  air.  The 
Turks  broke  forth  in  derisive  laughter  as  their 
eyes  fell  upon  the  horrid  spectacle. 

"My  rascals  have  eluded  my  vigilance,  I 
see,"  observed  Kostakes,  "and  have  been  hav 
ing  a  little  fun  in  their  own  way." 

"Different  nations  have  different  ideas 
about  a  joke,"  gasped  Curtis  through  his 
handkerchief. 

Emerging  from  the  town,  they  picked  their 
•way  through  a  large  patch  of  freshly  felled 
olive  trees.  The  sound  of  the  nocturnal  chop 
ping  was  now  explained.  About  eleven 
o'clock  they  stopped  for  dinner  in  a  small, 
deserted  hamlet.  During  the  progress  of  the 
meal  a  wounded  Bashi  Bazouk  rode  into  the 
town  and  up  to  the  table  where  Curtis  and 
Kostakes  were  sitting.  The  man  wore  a  red 
turban,  which  gave  to  his  pallid  face  a  tint 
similar  to  that  of  the  underside  of  a  toadstool. 
His  soft  shirt  had  sagged  into  a  little  bagful 
of  blood,  that  dripped  out  like  the  whey  from  a 


176  JLIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

sack  of  cottage  cheese,  upon  his  yellow  sash 
and  blue  breeches.  He  said  a  few  words  with 
mouth  wide  open,  as  though  his  under  jaw 
had  suddenly  grown  heavy,  and  then,  reeling, 
was  caught  by  two  soldiers,  dragged  from  the 
saddle  and  carried  into  a  hut. 

"I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me  for  several 
hours/'  said  Kostakes,  rising.  "My  Bashi 
Bazouks,  whom  I  left  with  certain  commis 
sions  to  execute,  are  being  defeated  at  Reveni, 
about  an  hour's  march  from  here.  How  fifty 
Bashi  Bazouks  can,  find  any  difficulty  with  a 
little  place  like  Reveni  is  more  than  I  can  under 
stand!  But  I  shall  soon  put  a  new  face  on 
affairs  when  I  arrive!" 

"God  help  the  poor  people,"  prayed  Curtis, 
inaudibly. 

"I  shall  leave  three  of  my  men  behind  to 
look  after  your  wants  and  those  of  the  young 
lady.  I  shall  explain  to  the  one  I  leave  with 
you  that  he  is  your  servant — that  he  must 
bring  you  anything  you  ask  for.  He  speaks 
Greek,  so  you  will  be  able  to  get  along  with 
him." 

Five  minutes  afterward  Kostakes  was  rid 
ing  away  at  the  head  of  his  troop.  He  turned 
once  in  the  saddle  and  waved  his  hand  to 
Curtis.  The  American  picked  up  his  hat  from 
the  table  and  swung  it  in  the  air. 


FOUR  AGAINST  ONE  177 

"Au  revoir,  Kostakes,"  he  cried.  "The 
devil  confound  you  and  your  whole  crew  of 
cutthroats — I  wonder  if  this  beggar  speaks 
English?" 

He  glanced  suspiciously  at  the  tall,  sallow- 
faced  Turk  who  stood  a  short  distance  away, 
leaning  upon  his  musket. 

"No,  I  guess  not.  He'd  give  some  sign  if 
he  did." 

Two  other  Turks,  with  musket  on  shoul 
der,  were  pacing  back  and  forth  before  the 
door  of  the  hut  where  Panayota  was  impris 
oned.  Curtis  could  feel  his  heart  thumping 
against  his  breast.  He  struck  the  place  with 
his  doubled  fist. 

"Keep  still,  curse  you,"  he  muttered,  "and 
let  me  think.  Here  is  the  opportunity — but 
how?  how?" 

The  army  was  crawling  along  a  white  road 
that  streamed  like  a  ribbon  athwart  the  foot 
of  a  hill.  The  ribbon  fluttered  as  the  dust  rose 
in  the  wind.  The  bayonets  twinkled  in  a  dun 
cloud. 

"Four  against  one,"  mused  Curtis.  "Four 
Turks  against  one  Yankee  trick — but  how?" 

Kostakes  plunged  into  the  hill  and  disap 
peared,  and  the  blazing  bayonets,  line  after 
line,  were  extinguished  in  a  billow  of  green 


178  MICE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

thyme.  The  American  looked  back  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  door  of  a  stone  hut — the  one 
into  which  the  wounded  Bashi  Bazouk  had 
been  carried. 

"Hey!"  he  called,  "you  there,  hey!" 

The  Turk  left  ostensibly  as  Curtis'  servant, 
but  actually  as  his  guard,  stepped  briskly  for 
ward,  and,  taking  in  his  own  the  American's 
extended  hand,  pulled  him  to  his  feet. 

"Help  me  into  the  house,"  said  Curtis. 
"Now  bring  me  that  bench." 

The  man  complied,  after  which  he  went  to 
the  door,  and,  leaning  against  the  jamb, 
looked  wistfully  at  his  fellows.  At  one  end 
of  the  room  was  a  fireplace,  filled  with  ashes 
and  charred  pieces  of  log.  It  was  a  primitive 
concern,  the  only  vent  for  smoke  being  a  hole 
in  the  roof  directly  overhead.  Board  plat 
forms  on  each  side  the  fireplace  served  as 
couches  for  the  family.  On  one  of  these,  flat 
on  his  back,  lay  the  wounded  man. 

"I  wonder  how  badly  he's  hurt,"  mused 
Curtis.  "There  isn't  strength  enough  left  in 
him  to  put  up  a  fight,  but  there's  enough  left 
to  pull  a  trigger  if  I  tackle  the  other  chap. 
Hello,  he's  got  the  hiccoughs;  why,  that's 
queer." 

The  man  became  quiet,  and  again  Curtis 


FOUR  AGAINST  ONE  179 

relapsed  into  thought,  to  be  disturbed  a  sec 
ond  time  by  the  sound  of  knocking  on  boards. 
Looking  around,  his  eyes  fell  directly  upon 
the  eyes  of  the  Bashi  Bazouk,  and  he  felt  as 
though  he  heard  some  one  crying  for  help 
when  no  help  was  near.  The  man  was  resting 
upon  his  back  and  both  elbows.  For  a 
moment  those  bloodshot,  praying,  awful  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  Curtis;  then  they  swept  the 
dingy  hut  and  went  out  like  panes  of  glass 
when  the  light  is  extinguished  in  a  room.  The 
man  fell  backward,  fluttered  on  the  hard  planks 
and  was  still.  Curtis  shuddered. 

"That  wasn't  nice,"  he  muttered,  "but  this 
is  no  time  for  sentiment." 

The  other  Turk  stood  by  the  body  of  his 
dead  comrade,  looking  down  at  the  ghastly, 
upturned  face.  Curtis  pinched  the  muscles 
of  his  own  right  arm  with  the  fingers  and 
thumb  of  his  left  hand,  and  moved  his  doubled 
fist  tentatively  up  and  down. 

"Where  shall  I  hit  him?"  he  mused.  "In 
the  chin  or  back  of  the  ear?  He  must  never 
know  what  struck  him." 

Bending  over,  he  untied  the  long  strip  of 
cloth  about  his  foot  and  unwound  it.  Taking 
it  in  his  hands  he  pulled  several  times  on  it, 
to  test  its  strength. 


i8o         ;LIKE  ANOTHER  HEL.EN 

"Strong  as  a  hemp  rope.  You  could  hang 
a  man  with  that." 

It  was  Panayota's  blue  homespun. 

"Hey!"  he  called  to  the  Turk.  "You  there. 
Say,  look  at  this  foot  of  mine,  will  you,  and 
see  what  you  think  of  it." 

The  man  kneeled.  Curtis  drew  back  his 
arm,  but  realized  that  he  could  not  get  suffi 
cient  swing  in  a  sitting  posture. 

"O,  hold  on  a  minute.  Let  me  try  the  foot 
on  the  ground  and  see  how  it  goes." 

They  rose  to  their  feet  together,  and  the 
unsuspecting  soldier  reeled  backward,  stunned 
by  a  vicious  punch  on  the  temple.  But  he 
did  not  fall,  and  Curtis,  maddened  by  a  great 
fear  lest  he  bungle  his  opportunity,  sprang 
forward  and  delivered  a  swinging,  sledge 
hammer-like  blow  upon  his  victim's  ear, 
throwing  into  it  the  entire  strength  of  his 
body.  The  Turk  dropped  like  an  ox  under 
the  butcher's  hammer.  Then  Curtis  hastily 
bound  him,  hand  and  foot,  with  Panayota's 
bandage,  and,  tearing  the  lining  from  the 
man's  coat,  stuffed  it  down  his  throat.  Pull 
ing  up  a  plank  from  the  platform  by  the  fire 
place,  he  thrust  the  limp  form  out  of  sight  and 
closed  up  the  opening. 

"I  hope  I  didn't  kill  you,"  he  muttered; 


FOUR  AGAINST  ONE  181 

"but,  as  old  Lindbohm  says,  'you  must  yust 
take  your  chances!' ' 

He  walked  once  or  twice  the  length  of  the 
hut.  The  foot  gave  him  considerable  pain, 
but  it  was  possible  to>  step  on  it. 

"What'll  I  do  with  the  other  two?"  he 
mused. 

He  picked  up  the  gun  lying  on  the  floor 
and  examined  it.  It  was  a  Mauser  and 
charged  with  five  shells.  He  peeped  cau 
tiously  through  the  doorway  at  Panayota's 
prison,  concealing  his  body.  The  two  guards 
appeared  at  the  corner  and  looked  curiously 
in  his  direction. 

"Bah!  What  a  fool  I  am!"  he  thought,  and 
hopped  boldly  into  sight,  holding  up  his  lame 
leg  by  passing  his  hand  under  it  while  he 
leaned  against  the  jamb.  The  guards  faced 
about  and  disappeared,  putting  the  house  be 
tween  themselves  and  Curtis  on  their  back 
ward  march  to  the  other  end  of  their  beat. 

"I  could  pot  .one  of  them,  and  then — but 
no,  I  might  miss/ and  then  I'd  be  in  a  pretty 
mess.  And  even  if  I  did  hit  one,  the  other 
would  have  me  at  a  disadvantage." 

There  was  a  sound  of  kicking  against  the 
boards  at  the  fireplace.  He  sprang  to  the 
spot,  rifle  in  hand,  and  tore  up  the  plank.  The 


182        LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

man  was  lying  upon  his  back  with  his  eyes 
open.  A  great  light  broke  in  upon  Curtis — 
an  inspiration.  He  had  thrust  the  Turk  out 
of  sight  through  instinct. 

"Pshaw!"  he  exclaimed,  "they  can't  both 
leave  Panayota.  If  I  call  to  them,  may  be  one 
will  come  out  of  curiosity,  and  I'll  do  this 
thing  right  over  again.  But  what'll  I  tie  him 
with?" 

He  cast  his  eyes  about  the  room.  *The  in 
evitable  chest,  studded  with  brass  nails  stood 
against  the  wall.  He  opened  it. 

"Cleaned  out,  by  Jove!" 

He  went  again  to  his  victim,  and  taking  a 
large  jackknife  from  his  pocket,  deliberately 
opened  it.  The  man  turned  as  white  as  veal, 
his  jaws  worked  convulsively  on  the  gag  as 
he  made  a  vain  effort  to  plead  for  mercy,  and 
a  pitiful  noise,  a  sort  of  gurgling  bleat, 
sounded  in  his  throat. 

"What  the  devil  ails  you?"  asked  Curtis. 
"O — I  see,"  and  he  added  in  Greek: 

"No  kill.    Cut  your  clothes— see?" 

And  stooping,  he  slitted  the  Turk's  sleeve 
from  wrist  to  shoulder.  Following  the  seam 
around  with  the  blade,  he  pulled  away  the 
large  rectangular  piece  of  cloth.  Seizing  the 
other  sleeve,  he  was  about  to  slash  into  it, 


The  American  thought  of  the  Turk,  and  looked  out 


FOUR  AGAINST  ONE  183 

when  he  thought  he  heard  footsteps  among 
the  stones  and  gravel  outside  the  hut. 

"My  God!"  he  cried,  in  a  hoarse  whisper, 
and  jumped  into  the  corner  beside  the  door, 
just  as  one  of  the  other  two  Turks  walked 
boldly  into  the  room.  Without  a  moment's 
thought  Curtis  brought  the  barrel  of  his  rifle 
down  upon  the  man's  head,  who  dropped  his 
own  gun  and  pitched  sprawling  upon  his  face. 
For  fully  a  minute,  which  seemed  an  hour,  the 
American  stood  motionless>  breathless,  in  the 
attitude  which  had  followed  the  blow.  Every 
muscle  was  set  to  knotted  hardness;  he  held 
the  rifle  in  both  hands,  ready  to  throw  it  sud 
denly  to  his  shoulder.  He  did  not  breathe, 
and  he  listened  so  intently  tha't  he  could  hear 
his  own  heart  beating,  and  the  breathing  of 
the  man  at  the  fireplace.  Suddenly  his 
muscles  relaxed  like  an  escaping  spring,  and 
he  looked  nervously  about  for  the  detached 
sleeve.  Picking  it  up,  he  stooped  over  the 
second  Turk,  when  the  latter  moved  his  left 
arm  several  times  with  the  palm  of  the  hand 
down,  feebly  suggesting  an  effort  to  rise. 
Then  the  arm  dropped  and  the  hand  beat  a 
faint  tattoo  on  the  earthen  floor.  There  was 
a  great  shiver  of  the  whole  body,  a  twitching 
of  the  muscles,  a  queer  rattle  in  the  throat, 


1 84  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

and — silence.  Curtis  stared  with  open  mouth 
and  dilated  eyes,  and  a  great,  inexplicable  hor 
ror  came  over  him.  "Ah!"  he  gasped,  and, 
dropping  upon  his  knees,  he  ran  his  fingers 
over  the  skull.  The  hair  was  matted  with 
blood,  and  a  deep,  ragged-edged  dent  bore 
witness  to  the  terrible  force  with  which  the 
rifle  barrel  had  fallen. 

"I've  killed  a  man,"  he  whispered,  in  an 
awestruck  voice,  rising  to  his  feet.  Staring 
fixedly  at  the  silent  thing  lying  there  before 
him,  he  repeated  the  sentence  over  and  over 
again: 

"I've  killed  a  man — I've  killed  a  man!" 

Then  all  at  once  a  great  change  came  over 
him,  the  joy  and  fierceness  of  the  lust  for  blood, 
and  he  laughed  hysterically,  gloating  over  the 
dead  man  before  him,  as  the  victorious  heroes 
used  to  do  in  the  old  barbaric  ages. 

He  thought  of  the  other  Turk,  and  looked 
out  of  the  door  just  in  time  to  see  him  turn 
at  the  hither  corner  and  disappear  as  he 
walked  back  on  his  beat.  Curtis  made  a  dash 
for  an  olive  tree  about  eight  rods  distant,  and, 
skulking  behind  it,  peeped  between  the  high 
gnarled  roots.  When  the  guard  had  again 
appeared  and  turned  back,  he  ran  to  a  rock 
and  threw  himself  down  behind  it,  instinc- 


FOUR  AGAINST  ONE  185 

lively  using  tactics  by  which  he  had  some 
times  crept  up  on  a  diving  duck.  He  was  now 
within  listening  distance.  The  next  run 
brought  him  to  the  side  of  the  house,  and  he 
had  just  time  to  throw  his  gun  to  his  shoulder 
when  the  guard  stepped  into  view.  He  might 
have  taken  him  prisoner,  but  the  thought  did 
not  occur  to  him.  He  had  tasted  blood. 
Panayota  came  to  the  door  and  looked  won- 
deringly  out.  The  American  ran  to  her  with 
the  smoking  musket  in  his  hand  and  seized 
her  by  the  wrist.  It  was  the  natural  act  of  the 
savage  who  has  won  his  woman  in  fight. 

"Come,  Panayota!"  he  cried,  "you  are  free. 
They  are  all  dead!" 

And  he  started  down  the  hill,  pulling  the 
girl  with  him.  She  came  without  a  word. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
"MY  LIFE,   I   LOVE   YOU" 

TIED  to  a  tree  was  one  of  those  large 
black  and  tan  mules  that  are  stronger 
than  any  horse  and  tough  as  steel. 
This  one,  a  pack  animal,  had  been  left  behind 
in  charge  of  the  three  guards.  Curtis  picked 
up  the  clumsy  pack  saddle  which  lay  near  and 
threw  it  upon  the  beast's  back.  In  his  ex 
citement  he  bungled  the  unfamiliar  straps,  but 
Panayota  assisted  with  nimble  and  ex 
perienced  fingers.  He  helped  her  to  mount, 
and  was  about  to  climb  up,  when  he  hap 
pened  to  think  of  the  dead  Turks'  am 
munition.  Bringing  a  supply  from  the  hut, 
he  climbed  up  behind  the  girl.  So  they  rode 
away,  the  fair  Cretan  sitting  sidewise  in  the 
saddle,  the  American  astride  behind  her.  He 
passed  an  arm  around  her  waist  to  steady 
them  both,  and  accelerated  the  animal's  speed 
by  digging  the  butt  of  his  musket  into  its  side. 
He  could  not  use  his  heels,  because  one  foot 
was  bare  and  still  somewhat  lame.  Panayota 
guided  the  mule  by  flipping  in  its  eyes,  first 
on  one  side  of  the  head  and  then  on  the  other, 

183 


«MY  LIFE,  I  LOVE  YOU"  187 

the  end  of  the  rope  that  was  tied  about  its 
neck.  As  Curtis  felt  beneath  his  arm  the  firm 
but  yielding  form;  as  the  warm,  strong  heart 
throbbed  against  his  hand,  his  madness  be 
came  complete.  He  had  killed  two  men  for 
this  girl,  and  she  was  worth  it.  He  was 
ferociously  happy.  The  very  touch  of  her 
thrilled  him.  He  knew  now  why  he  had  killed 
the  men — for  the  same  reason  that  David  had 
slain  Uriah.  Woman,  gentle,  refining,  soften 
ing  woman  will,  in  an  instant,  blot  two  thou 
sand  years  of  civilization  out  of  a  man's 
nature  and  turn  him  back  into  a  primitive 
savage.  He  held  her  very  tight,  and  she  made 
no  resistance.  What  trifles  shape  our  desti 
nies!  In  the  giddy  happiness  of  the  moment 
he  could  not  have  framed  an  original  Greek 
sentence  to  save  his  soul,  but  as  he  leaned  for 
ward  with  his  lips  close  to  the  girl's  ear,  with 
his  face  partly  buried  in  her  hair,  the  refrain 
of  Byron's  "Maid  of  Athens"  sang  itself  in 
his  brain,  and  he  whispered  again  and  again, 
(C7,oe  moil,  ^a^  agapo,  zoe  mou,  sas  agapo." 
She  shivered  slightly  the  first  time  that  he 
repeated  the  sentence,  but  she  did  not  repulse 
him.  At  last,  that  first  keen  madness  of  con 
tact  with  her  passed  away,  and  he  chattered 
excitedly  as  he  urged  on  the  ambling  mule: 


188  UKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"Don't  be  afraid,  Panayota ;  they'll  never  catch 
us.  I've  got  you  now,  not  Kostakes.  My  life, 
I  love  you!  Go  on,  you  dromedary,  or  I'll 
punch  a  rib  out  of  you!  They  must  kill  me 
before  they  take  you  again." 

After  they  had  been  about  an  hour  on  the 
road,  they  began  to  feel  uneasy. 

'They  must  have  got  back  by  this  time," 
thought  Curtis.  "I  wish  I  had  killed  that 
other  Turk,  then  they  would  have  thought  we 
were  rescued,"  and  he  looked  anxiously  back 
over  his  shoulder.  The  idea  came  to  Curtis  of 
turning  off  sharply  from  the  path  and  hiding 
in  the  hills,  but  the  mountains  that  enclosed 
the  long  valley  looked  forbidding.  They 
would  certainly  lose  their  wray  and  perish  of 
hunger.  Besides  there  were  Greeks  ahead  of 
them  somewhere.  As  they  began  to  ascend 
toward  Galata,  they  could  see  for  a  long  dis 
tance  over  the  lovely  plain  now  stretched  out 
before  them  in  the  rays  of  the  afternoon  sun. 

"It'll  be  time  to  make  a  break  for  the 
woods,"  mused  Curtis,  "when  I  see  them  com 
ing."  Once  a  cloud  of  dust  arose  far  behind 
and  he  caught  Panayota's  arm. 

"Look!"  he  cried.  "They're  coming!"  But 
she  replied: 

"No,  'tis  a  whirlwind/' 


«MY  LIFE,  I  LOVE  YOU"  189 

Curtis  did  not  understand  the  word,  but 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  speaking  gesture 
which  accompanied  it.  The  mule  becoming 
tired,  Panayota  slid  to  the  ground,  and, 
throwing  the  rope  over  her  shoulder,  trotted 
on  ahead. 

"There's  Galata!"  she  cried,  pointing  with 
level  arm  to  the  distant  village. 

"How  many  hours?"  asked  Curtis. 

"About  two  more." 

"We  shall  get  there  after  dark,  then?" 

"Certainly." 

The  sun  was  just  setting  behind  a  mountain, 
as  it  always  does  in  the  interior  of  Crete. 
Curtis  turned  in  the  saddle  and  took  one  last 
long  look.  The  white  road  lay  very  plain  on 
the  side  of  the  low7  ridge  over  w7hich  they  had 
come.  It  was  in  shape  like  a  giant  letter  S, 
one  end  of  which  ended  at  the  summit  and  the 
other  among  the  green  vineyards,  climbing 
half  way  up  the  slope.  The  trees,  and  the  deep 
water-ways  and  castles  of  rock  on  the  side  of 
the  hill  were  indistinguishable  at  that  dis 
tance,  all  blending  into  a  general  effect  of  soft 
color,  but  the  top  of  the  hill  was  sketched 
against  the  sky  as  distinctly  as  a  crayon  line, 
and  on  it  every  tree,  nay,  every  shrub  stood 
magnified  in  the  parting  light.  There  was 


IJKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

something  unnatural  about  this  row  of  trees, 
rope-walking  on  a  curved  line  swaying  in  the 
sky.  As  Curtis  gazed  at  the  weird  effect  two 
giant  horsemen  balanced  on  the  aerial  rope 
for  an  instant,  and  then  lunged  headforemost 
into  the  purple  glow  on  the  hither  side.  They 
were  followed  by  row  after  row  of  mounted 
men,  four  abreast,  that  appeared  and  disap 
peared  in  rapid  succession. 

"Look,  Panayota,"  said  Curtis  quietly.  The 
girl  went  deadly  white  and  crossed  herself. 

"My  little  Virgin,  help  us,"  she  prayed. 
'The  Bashi  Bazouks!" 

"They  haven't  got  us  yet.  How  far  away 
are  they?" 

"An  hour,  may  be  an  hour  and  a  half." 

"We'll  turn  off  into  the  hills  when  it's  a  lit 
tle  darker.  Can  they  see  us?" 

"I  think  not,"  replied  Panayota.  "We  are 
now  among  the  trees.  But  we'd  better  wait 
a  little  before  we  turn." 

The  Turkish  troops  had  nowbecome  a  long, 
dark  quadrangle,  sliding  slowly  down  the 
giant  S.  The  sun  dropped  behind  the  moun 
tain,  the  white  letter  became  black,  and  the 
quadrangle  disappeared.  The  fleeing  man  and 
woman  were  in  the  world's  amethyst  shadow. 


LIFE,  i  LOYE  YOU"        191 

"Shall  we  turn  now,  Panayota?"  asked  Cur 
tis.  "I  care  not  where,  so  we  go  together." 

For  answer  she  turned  and  held  up  her 
hand.  He  listened,  but  heard  nothing. 

"Voices,"  said  the  girl,  "and  footsteps.  But 
I  hear  no  more.  They  are  moving  stealthily." 

"Is  it  more  Turks,  coming  from  in  front?" 

"God  knows,  but  I  think  not." 

She  led  the  mule  some  distance  to  the  side 
of  the  road  into  a  clump  of  green  oleander. 
Curtis  slid  to  the  ground  and  looked  carefully 
to  his  rifle. 

"Panayota,"  he  whispered,  hurriedly,  "they 
shall  not  take  us  while  I  live.  I  love  you.  We 
may  have  but  a  few  moments  together.  Let 
me  take  one  kiss,  the  first,  perhaps  the  last." 

He  put  his  arm  about  her,  but  she  placed  her 
hand  against  his  breast  and  pushed  him  from 
her,  with  a  cautious  "hist!" 

The  footsteps  of  many  men  could  be  heard 
plainly,  not  far  up  the  road  now. 

"If  they  would  only  speak,"  she  muttered. 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  her  mouth  ere 
some  one  uttered  a  sharp  and  hurried  com 
mand  in  a  suppressed  tone. 

"They   are    Greeks!"    exclaimed   the   girl. 
"Now  Christ  and  the  Virgin—" 
\ 


1 92  UKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

But  Curtis  put  his  hand  gently  over  her 
mouth,  whispering: 

"Hush!    Perhaps  it  is  a  ruse." 

The  moon  had  not  yet  arisen,  and  the  dark 
ness  was  like  ink.  Some  one  stumbled,  and 
a  musket  fell  "ching!"  among  the  rocks. 

"Take  care!"  said  an  imperious  voice  in 
Greek. 

"That's  Kyrios  Lindbohm,"  whispered 
Panayota.  "I  know  his  voice." 

"Lindbohm  don't  know  any  Greek,"  replied 
her  companion. 

"He  could  not  be  in  Crete  one  day  without 
learning  the  word  for  'take  care!'  I  tell  you 
it's  Lindbohm.  Who  that  has  ever  heard  that 
voice  could  forget  it?  I  should  know  it,"  mur 
mured  the  girl,  "if  I  heard  it  in  my  grave." 

Curtis  was  too  excited  to  take  note  of  the 
singular  remark. 

The  men  were  now  passing  them  quite  close 
and  several  of  them  were  conversing  in  low 
tones.  The  girl  leaned  forward,  listening. 
Then  suddenly  she  called  in  a  loud  voice: 

"Patriotaif  where  are  you?" 

Utter  silence  for  several  moments,  broken 
at  last  by  an  inquiring  "Eh?"  and  the  clicking 
of  rifle  locks. 

"Lindbohm!" 


"MY  LIFE,  I  LOVE  YOU''          193 

"Curtis,  by  damn !    It's  all  right ;  come  out !" 

The  American  sprang  eagerly  forward,  but 
stepped  on  a  stone.  Then  he  leaped  on  to  the 
back  of  the  mule  and  Panayota  led  the  animal 
out  into  the  highway  and  into  the  midst  of  a 
goodly  company  of  armed  insurgents,  who 
forgot  all  discipline,  and  broke  forth  into  a 
volley  of  questions. 

The  American  and  the  Lieutenant  were  shak 
ing  each  other  by  the  hand  through  it  all. 

"I  saved  her!"  cried  Curtis.  "I  killed  two 
Turks  and  did  up  another.  Then  we  ran  away 
on  this  mule.  I  cracked  one  of  'em  on  the 
head  and  shot  another.  I  smashed  one  with 
my  fist  and  took  his  gun  away  from  him. 
Then  I—" 

"So  you  saved  Panayota?" 

"Yes,  I  saved  her,  I  tell  you.    I—" 

"Thank  God!  thank  God!"  cried  Lind- 
bohm,  throwing  his  arms  about  Curtis'  neck. 

"Where  is  my  father?"  asked  Panayota,  in 
a  shrill  voice  that  pierced  the  bubble  of  ques 
tions,  suddenly,  awkwardly. 

"Her  father  is  dead,"  said  the  Lieutenant 
huskily.  "We  found  his  body.  She  must  not 
know.  Poor  girl!  Poor  girl!" 

"I  blew  a  hole  right  through  the  last  one 
and  then  we  departed.  We  got  here  just  in 


194  MKE  ANOTHER  HEJLEN 

time,  old  man,  for  they're  right  behind  us — 
the  whole  shooting-match." 

"How  many?" 

"All   the   Bashi   Bazouks — about   fifty   of 


'em.' 


"Good,"  cried  Lindbohm,  "we'll  ambush 
'em.  We'll  give 'em  hell!" 

"We'll  settle  'em,  Lindbohm.  We'll  lick 
'em  out  of  their  boots.  How  many  men  have 
you  got?" 

"Thirty." 

"Why,  it's  a  cinch.  We  sha'n't  let  one  of 
them  get  away  alive.  We'll  shoot  down  the 
Bashi  Bazouks  and  ride  away  on  their  horses." 

When,  half  an  hour  later,  the  great,  tran 
quil,  yellow  moon  looked  down  upon  the  town 
of  Galata  from  a  neighboring  mountain  top, 
all  was  seemingly  peaceful  in  its  desolate 
streets.  Save  the  dreadful  figure  nailed  to  the 
church  door,  not  a  human  form  was  to  be 
seen.  And  yet  death  and  hate  crouched  there 
in  the  shadows,  for  Lindbohm  and  his  thirty 
men  lurked  in  the  ruined  houses  that  sur 
rounded  the  square,  and  whosoever  looked 
closely  might  have  seen  here  and  there  the  dull 
gleam  of  a  rifle  barrel;  but  even  then  he  would 
have  suspected  nothing,  for  the  moonlight 
plays  strange  and  fantastic  tricks.  Curtis  and 


«MY  JLIFE,  I  !LOYE  YOU"          195 

Lindbohm  kneeled  side  by  side  at  the  same 
window,  and  Panayota  sat  on  the  floor  in  a 
dark  corner,  clasping  her  knees  with  her  hands 
and  moaning  gently,  "O,  my  father,  my  little 
father!" 


CHAPTER  XXII 
THE   AMBUSH 

INTERMINABLY  they  waited,  listening 
for  the  sound  of  galloping  horses.  Curtis' 
extreme  tension  passed  away,  and  the 
situation  suddenly  assumed  an  unreal  aspect 
in  his  thoughts.  His  knees  began  to  feel 
bruised  on  the  hard  floor.  He  was  strongly 
tempted  to  rise  up  and  ease  them. 

"Pshaw!"  he  said  to  Lindbohm,  "I  don't 
believe  they're  coming,  after  all.  I  guess  I'll 
go  out  and  take  a  look." 

"Keep  still!"  replied  the  Swede.  "Don't 
you  stir  on  your  life,  and  don't  you  speak  a 
word  aloud,"  and  a  moment  after  he  added 
more  pleasantly: 

"They  may  send  scouts  on  foot." 

Panayota  had  fallen  asleep.  They  could 
hear  her  deep  but  troubled  breathing,  as  her 
frame  continued  to  vibrate  with  the  sorrow 
that  for  the  moment  she  had  mercifully  for 
gotten. 

"Michali  was  burned  alive,"  said  Curtis,  in 
a  loiw  tone,  after  another  stretch  of  waiting, 

196 


THE  AMBUSH  197 

during  which  his  knees  had  become  the  most 
important  portions  of  his  entire  anatomy, 

"I  tried  to  save  him,  but  Kostakes — " 

Lindbohm  seized  him  impatiently  by  the 
arm  and  whispered: 

"Tst,  be  quiet,  can't  you?  Do  you  want  to 
spoil  the  whole  thing?  No,  we  rescued 
Michali." 

Curtis  worked  himself  to  his  feet,  and 
sat  upon  his  heels.  The  nightingales  were 
singing  in  full  chorus,  and  he  wondered  how 
anybody  could  hear  anything  in  that  infernal 
racket.  The  water  in  the  fountain  of  Petros 
Nikolaides  hissed  and  gurgled(  and  crashed 
like  the  waters  of  Lodore. 

Curtis'  new  attitude  became  more  painful 
than  a  spiked  chair,  and  he  slid  back  on  his 
knees  again.  He  sat  down  for  awhile,  but  the 
desire  to  peep  over  the  window  sill  was  irre 
sistible.  Finally,  just  as  his  knees  had  become 
boils,  the  Swede  touched  him  upon  the  shoul 
der,  and  he  forgot  them.  The  screeching  of 
the  nightingales,  the  hurtling  of  the  fountain, 
were  swallowed  up  in  the  dull  and  distant 
pounding  of  horses'  hoofs. 

"They're  yust  coming  right  into  it,"  said 
Lindbohm,  in  his  natural  tone.  "Kostakes, 


198  UKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

he's  too  mad  to  be  careful.  Have  you  got  a 
bayonet?" 

"No,  I  forgot  to  take  it.  He  was  wearing  it 
for  a  sword." 

"Here,  take  this  Gras  and  give  me  the 
Mauser.  You'll  yust  get  all  tangled  up  with 
that.  The  Gras  is  simpler,  and  the  bayonet, 
in  the  hands  of  a  man  who  doesn't  know  how 
to  use  it,  is  a  terrible  weapon.  Give  me  your 
ammunition.  Thanks.  Here's  my  cartridge 
belt." 

Lindbohm  was  gay,  with  the  gaiety  of  a 
child.  He  was  about  to  play  his  favorite  game, 
to  indulge  the  innocent  impulse  of  boys  and  of 
untutored  men.  The  clatter  came  nearer, 
grew  louder. 

"Do  you  know  the  orders?"  he  asked. 

"No." 

"Each  man  is  to  pick  out  his  mark  and  aim, 
but  nobody  is  to  shoot  until  I  do.  I  shall  take 
Kostakes." 

"I,  too,  to  make  sure  of  him.  He  needs 
killing." 

"All  right— now,  ready!" 

The  galloping  changed  into  the  chug!  chug! 
chug!  of  men  sitting  upon  trotting  horses. 
The  moon  had  risen  and  had  filled  the  trees 
and  about  half  of  the  square  with  its  silver 


THE  AMBUSH  199 

snow.  The  battered  features  of  Petros  Niko- 
laides,  the  benefactor,  were  those  of  a  frozen 
corpse.  The  horses  could  now  be  heard 
plainly  staggering  through  the  narrow,  stony 
street.  Now  was  the  time  when  Lindbohm 
was  cool.  No  detail  escaped  him. 

"Your  gun  is  already  cocked,"  he  whis 
pered.  "Aim  just  above  the  saddle — shoot 
when  I  say  'three/  ' 

"I'll  hit  him,"  replied  Curtis.  "I'm  an  old 
squirrel  hunter,  I  am." 

"Kostakes  trotted  into  the  square,  and, 
jerking  his  horse  nearly  to  its  haunches, 
whirled  about  to  face  his  Lieutenant  and  the 
Bashi  Bazouks  who  debouched  from  the 
mouth  of  the  street  in  twos  and  threes — a  wild, 
motley,  terrible  throng.  Curtis  aimed  first  at 
the  Captain's  breast  and  then  at  his  head.  The 
intended  victim  was  evidently  in  a  vile  temper, 
for  he  kept  twitching  viciously  at  the  bridle 
rein,  causing  his  tired  animal  to  rear  and  throw 
its  head  in  the  air.  The  American  was  one 
moment  aiming  at  the  horse's  neck  and  then 
at  the  marble  corpse  of  Petros  Nikolaides. 

"Will  Lindbohm  never  shoot?"  he  asked 
himself  every  time  that  the  Turk's  form  swung 
squarely  in  line  with  his  gun.  The  Bashi 
Bazouks  continued  to  pour  into  the  square, 


200  MKE  ANOTHER  HEL.EN 

sitting  very  straight,  resting  their  short  guns 
over  their  shoulders  or  on  the  necks  of  their 
horses. 

"Hup!"  cried  Kostakes,  flourishing  his 
sword  in  the  moonlight,  and  giving  an  order 
in  Turkish.  The  men  began  to  fall  into  line, 
eight  abreast. 

"One!"  whispered  Lindbohm.  Curtis  glued 
his  cheek  to  the  rifle  barrel,  and  aimed  full  at 
the  breast  of  Kostakes,  who  was  now  sitting 
quietly  upon  his  horse. 

"I've  got  you,  I've  got  you/'  he  said  in 
thought. 

"Two!"  he  tightened  his  finger  on  the  trig 
ger,  -when  "bang!"  went  the  gun  of  an  im 
patient  Greek  on  the  other  side  of  the  square, 
and  one  of  the  Bashi  Bazouks  pitched  from  his 
saddle.  Lindbohm  sprang  to  his  feet,  with  a 
roar  of  rage  that  was  cut  in  two  by  the  terrific 
clatter  of  the  rifles  that  were  now  spitting  fire 
from  more  than  a  dozen  doors  and  windows. 
One  sound  had  wailed  out  between  the 
first  shot  and  the  volley,  as  vivid  as  a  light 
ning  flash  between  thunder  claps, — Panayota, 
fatigued  beyond  human  endurance,  had  fallen 
asleep  as  soon  as  she  found  herself  again  in 
the  hands  of  her  friends,  and  the  sound  of  the 
gun,  breaking  in  upon  her  overwrought 


THE  AMBUSH  201 

nerves,  had  drawn  from  her  a  long  piercing 
shriek. 

There  was  now  a  maelstrom  of  horses  in  the 
square,  and  a  pandemonium  of  yelling  men. 
Curtis  could  not  distinguish  Kostakes.     He 
had,  in  fact,  forgotten  all  about  him.      He 
stood  in  the  door  laughing  and  swearing  and 
shooting  into  the  whirling,  plunging,  snort 
ing,  yelling,  scrambling  melee.     But  the  mael 
strom  period  was  brief,  for  there  were  three 
streets  that  gave  into  the  square,  and  the  out 
side   horses   broke   for   safety.      They   were 
hurled  like,  mud  from  a  wagon  wheel  into  these 
exits,  and  went  clattering  away,  with  or  with 
out  their  riders,  until  at  last  only  one  mad 
dened    beast    was    left,    dragging    over    the 
ground  a  Turk  whose  foot  was  caught  in  the 
stirrup.    The  terror  of  the  animal  was  some 
thing  pitiful  to  see.     He  ran  blindly  into  a 
house.    He  plunged  into  the  fountain,  slipped, 
fell  and  scrambled  to  his  feet  again.    His  mas 
ter's  clothing  caught  on  a  sharp  rock,  and  he 
left  the  saddle  behind,  with  the  dead  Turk  still 
attached.     Then  he  found  the  opening  of  a 
street,  and  disappeared  with  a  mad  clatter  of 
hoofs.     The  Greeks  darted  from  the  houses 
and  scurried  after  the  Turks,  loading  and  fir 
ing  as  they  ran.    Curtis  shot  into  a  last  tangle 


202  I/LKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

of  horses,  wedged  together  at  the  mouth  of  a 
lane.  They  slipped  loose  and  plunged 
through,  scraping  off  one  of  the  Bashi  Ba- 
zouks,  who  bounded  to  his  feet  uninjured, 
and,  whipping  out  a  long,  curved  sword,  came 
toward  Curtis.  He  was  a  big  man,  bare 
headed  and  hairy  as  an  ape.  Curtis  threw 
the  Gras  to  his  shoulder  and  pulled  the 
trigger.  He  had  forgotten  to  reload  it.  The 
Turk  laughed.  Curtis  lowered  the  gun,  and, 
presenting  the  bayonet,  tiptoed  about  his  foe 
in  a  semi-circle.  The  Turk  revolved  as  on 
a  pivot,  squat,  alert,  weapon  deftly  advanced. 
Suddenly,  to  Curtis'  surprise,  his  enemy 
turned  and  ran.  The  American  bounded  after, 
and  then,  for  the  first  time  during  the  fray, 
he  remembered  that  he  had  a  sore  foot,  and 
that  that  foot  was  bare.  Panayota  came  to 
him.  She  carried  a  rifle  that  she  had  picked 
up  in  the  square. 

"Bravo!  Panayota!"  said  Curtis.  "Two  to 
one  frightened  him  away.  But  why  didn't  you 
shoot?" 

"I  wanted  to  get  close  and  make  sure,"  re 
plied  the  girl,  "and  then,  when  he  ran,  you 
were  in  the  way." 

Slipping  a  fresh  shell  into  his  Gras,  Curtis 
picked  his  way  through  the  stones  toward  a 


THE  AMBUSH  203 

distant  spot  where  he  heard  continued  firing. 
Panayota  attempted  to  follow,  but  he  stopped 
her  with  a  wave  of  the  hand. 

"I'll  be  right  back,"  he  shouted,  "as  soon 
as  I  get  another  shot.  You're  safe  here." 

He  left  her  standing  in  the  deserted  square, 
among  the  dead  Turks.  The  moon  shone  full 
upon  her  there,  leaning  toward  him,  holding 
her  gun  by  the  extreme  muzzle,  the  butt  trail 
ing  behind  on  the  ground.  Her  hair  blew 
into  her  eyes,  and  she  tossed  a  great  brush  of  it 
over  her  shoulder.  A  wounded  horse  rose  to 
its  haunches  near  her  and  threw  its  fore  feet 
dangerously  about.  Then  it  pitched  over  on 
its  side  with  a  groan. 

Curtis  had  gone  some  distance  up  the  narrow 
street,  when  he  heard  again  the  clatter  of 
horses'  hoofs.  He  stepped  behind  a  tree  that 
grew  close  against  a  wall  and  waited.  A 
Greek  ran  by  and  darted  under  a  house.  He 
was  followed  by  the  Bashi  Bazouk,  who  had 
run  from  Panayota's  rifle.  He  was  trotting 
by  the  side  of  a  mounted  comrade,  holding  to 
the  stirrup-strap.  One,  two-,  three,  four,  five, 
horsemen  followed.  The  firing  continued  in 
the  outskirts  of  the  town. 

"My  God!  Panayota!"  It  flashed  over  Cur 
tis  in  a  moment.  The  Greeks  had  scattered 


204  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

too  much  and  the  Turks,  getting  together  in 
small  parties,  were  returning  to  the  attack. 
While  he  was  still  in  the  crooked  lane,  making 
frantic  haste  toward  Panayota,  he  heard  a  shot 
in  the  square.  His  heart  stood  still  for  one 
moment  with  terror,  which  instantly  gave  way 
to  fury.  A  woman's  scream,  mingled  with 
brutal  laughter,  told  him  that  the  girl  had 
again  been  made  a  prisoner.  When  he  at  last 
reached  the  square,  the  six  Bashi  Bazouks  had 
gone,  taking  her  with  them. 


CHAPTER  XXIII  v 

A  FRIEND  WORTH  HAVING 

CURTIS  sat  down  upon  the  edge  of  the 
fountain.      There  was   a  faint  smell 
of  powder  in  the  air.    He  heard  a  shot 
now    and   again   in   the   distance.     A   bugle 
sounded.     Fortunately  no  more  of  the  Bashi 
Bazouks  passed  through  the  square. 
"Gone!"  said  Curtis;  "gone!" 
The  Greeks  began  to  come  in,  talking  ex 
citedly  and  gesticulating  like  madmen.    They 
seemed  to  be  in  high  spirits.    They  gathered 
about  Curtis,  and,  pointing  at  the  dead  bodies, 
all  talked  at  once.    They  enraged  him.     He 
could  hardly  resist  the  desire  to  jump  up  and 
lay  about  among  them  with  the  butt  of  his 
musket.    Lindbohm  pushed  his  way  through 
the  crowd.    Holding  his  gun  in  his  left  hand, 
he  brought  the  right  to  his  forehead,  saluting 
gaily  with  the  imaginary  sword. 

"Well,  my  friend,  we  had  a  little  fun  with 
them,  didn't  we?  The  ambush,  however, 
would  have  been  more  of  a  success  had  the 
men  obeyed  my  orders.  If  I  had  my  way  I 
would  yust  shoot  a  soldier  who  disobeyed  or- 


205 


206  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

ders.  Still,  we  taught  them  a  lesson.  We 
have  killed,  let  me  see  how  many,  one  two, 
three " 

"Hell !"  interrupted  Curtis,  rising  suddenly. 

"What!"  said  Lindbohm,  turning  upon  him, 
"what's  the  matter?" 

"She's  gone." 

Lindbohm  clutched  at  the  shoulder  of  a  by- 
standing  insurgent. 

"Panayota!"  he  gasped. 

"Huh!  Where  were  you?  Eh?  Where 
were  you  ?  Here  they  came,  six  of  'em,  right 
down  here,  and  the  girl  and  I  all  alone.  What 
could  I  do,  one  against  six?  You're  a 
healthy  soldier,  you  are — scatter  all  over  the 
country!  Lindbohm,  you're  to  blame  for  this. 
You've  got  to  answer  to  me — somebody's  got 
to  settle  for  this."  Flinging  his  rifle  down 
among  the  stones,  he  turned  his  back  con 
temptuously  and  limped  toward  one  of  the 
houses.  A  kindly  insurgent  sprang  to  his  as 
sistance. 

"Right  up  through  there  they  went,  carry 
ing  her  with  them.  Four  men  could  have 
stopped  'em.  Where  were  you,  damn  you?" 
and,  pushing  the  insurgent  from  him,  he  shook 
his  fist  in  his  face.  "Get  out  of  my  sight,  get 
out!"  he  cried. 


A  FRIEND  WORTH  HAVING         207 

Lindbohm  was  sitting  on  the  side  of  the 
basin,  his  face  buried  in  his  hands.  He  was 
sobbing  and  talking  to  himself  in  Swedish. 
Those  who  stood  near  heard  the  word  "Pana 
yota."  Reason  returned  to  Curtis  as  speed 
ily  as  he  had  lost  it.  His  blind  rage  passed 
away,  and  in  its  place  came  a  resolve  to 
recover  Panayota  and  to  settle  with  Kostakes 
according  to  the  present  debt  and  all  that 
might  accrue.  The  spirit  of  Crete  had  taken 
thorough  possession  of  him.  He  had  been 
wronged  by  the  Turk,  he  lived  only  for  ven 
geance.  His  eye  fell  upon  a  Cretan  in  the  act 
of  pulling  a  boot  from  a  dead  Turk's  foot.  He 
was  tugging  with  all  his  might.  All  at  once 
he  flew  over  backwards  with  the  boot  in  his 
hands.  His  comrades  broke  into  laughter. 
Lindbohm  did  not  look  up. 

"They  don't  feel  this  thing  about  Panayota 
as  badly  as  Lindbohm  and  I  do,"  soliloquized 
Curtis.  "Poor  old  Lindbohm!  I'll  tell  him 
I'm  in  love  with  Panayota,  and  then  he'll  see 
how  foolish  it  is  for  him  to  take  on  so.  He 
ought  to  stand  it  if  I  can." 

The  insurgent  detached  the  other  boot  and 
brought  the  pair  to  him. 

§"Will  those  fit?"  he  asked.    "Good  boots." 

Curtis  took  the  boots  and  went  over  to  the 


208  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

drinking  fountain.  He  patted  Lindbohm  on 
the  back.  "Cheer  up,  old  man,"  he  said. 
"They  can't  get  away  from  us.  There's  an 
other  day  coming." 

It  was  impossible  to  get  the  boot  upon  the 
sore  foot,  so  one  of  the  insurgents  cut  it  off 
at  the  ankle  and  slit  it  down  nearly  to  the  toe. 
Then  he  punched  a  number  of  holes,  and 
Curtis  was  able,  by  means  of  a  string,  to  lace 
on  this  improvised  shoe.  As  the  leather  was 
soft,  it  proved  very  comfortable.  Lindbohm 
staggered  to  his  feet,  stretched  himself  like  a 
man  awakening  from  sleep,  and  ran  his  finger 
through  his  blonde  pompadour. 

"That's  right,  old  man,"  said  Curtis;  "we 
must  brace  up.  Of  course,  you  feel  bad  be 
cause  we  sort  of  fumbled  the  thing.  But  con 
sider  what  my  feelings  must  be.  Lindbohm, 
I  love  that  girl." 

The  Swede  started  violently. 

"You  have  made  court  to  her?"  he  asked, 

"Why,  I  told  her  that  I  loved  her — yes,  yes, 
several  times."- 

"And,  pardon  me,  she  said  that  she  loved 
you?" 

"Now  that  you  ask  me,  I  don't  believe  she 
did.  No,  she  didn't.  But  I  didn't  have  much 
time,  you  see." 


A  FRIEND  WORTH  HAVING          209 

Lindbohm  held  out  his  big,  soft  hand,  and, 
as  Curtis  grasped  it,  said : 

"We  will  not  turn  back;  we  will  find  Pana- 
yota.  And  if  Kostakes  has  insulted  her  we 
will  punish  him,  though  he  flee  to  the  end3  of 
the  earth.'' 

"Old  man,  you're  a  friend  worth  having," 
cried  Curtis,  wringing  the  hand  iwhich  he 
held.  "I'll  never  forget  this  till  the  last  day  of 
my  life." 

One  of  the  insurgents,  a  former  resident  of 
Canea,  spoke  some  French.  It  was  through 
the  medium  of  this  man  that  Lindbohm 
had  communicated  with  his  troop  thus 
far.  He  called  him  now  and  told  him  to  get 
the  men  together,  as  they  must  march.  He 
feared  lest  Kostakes,  surmising  the  smallness 
of  their  numbers,  might  return  to  the  attack. 

So  they  set  forth  in  the  moonlight,  taking 
with  them  the  arms  and  other  spoils  of  the 
dead  Turks,  of  whom  the  number  proved  to 
be  eight.  Their  plan  was  to  conceal  them 
selves  somewhere  in  the  fields  and  get  some 
sleep.  But  half  a  mile  out  of  Galata  they  en* 
countered  a  band  of  fifty  Cretan  insurgents, 
young  men  of  the  region,  armed  to  the  teeth, 
and  thirsting  for  vengeance.  These,  learning 
that  Lindbohm  was  a  foreign  officer  of  ap- 


210  IJKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

proved  mettle,  put  themselves  also  under  his 
leadership.  Thus  reinforced  he  returned  and 
camped  in  Galata.  The  next  morning  he 
pushed  on  vigorously  after  Kostakes — a  pur 
suit  that  was  destined  to  last  several  weeks, 
and  that  was  prosecuted  with  a  continually 
increasing  band.  Several  encounters  took 
place,  and  three  Turkish  villages  were  de 
stroyed,  by  way  of  reprisal.  They  did  not 
succeed  in  capturing  Kostakes,  but  two 
wounded  Turks  that  fell  into  their  hands  at 
different  times,  told  them  that  Panayota  was 
in  his  camp. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
A  GLITTERING  ESPLANADE 

EUROPEANISM,  that  bubbles  up  in  the 
tailor  shops  of  Regent  Street,  and  pours 
its  thin  coating  of  dull  color  on  the 
heels  of  the  ever  advancing  British  musket, 
has  not  yet  washed  over  the  island  of  Crete. 
The  Akoond  of  Swat  has  donned  a  sack- 
coated  suit  of  blue  serge  and  a  straw  hat;  the 
cousins  of  native  princes  go  down  to  the  gov 
ernment  offices  with  brown  linen  on  their 
backs  and  Buddha  in  their  hearts;  Fuzzy- 
Wuzzy  is  cutting  his  hair — his  Samson  locks 
— and  buying  cork  helmets.  And  the  mis 
sionary  is  picking  his  way  through  the  corpses 
left  in  the  trail  of  the  machine  gun,  bringing 
Christ  and  calico  to  the  survivors.  They  are 
putting  pantaloons  on  the  bronze  statues  of 
the  desert,  and  are  sending  the  piquant  apples 
of  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  wrapped  up  in  bun 
dles  of  mother  hubbards,  to  the  naked 
maidens  of  the  South  Sea  Isles. 

But  Crete,  beautiful  Crete,  is  the  one  corner 
of  the  globe  which  the  dull,  tame  wave  of 
European  fashion  has  not  yet  touched  and 

211 


212  ]LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

commonized.  The  esplanade  of  Canea  to-day, 
fronting  the  harbor,  is  the  most  picturesque, 
fantastic,  kaleidoscopic  spot  on  earth.  Here 
commingle,  swarm,  interweave,  huddle,  scat 
ter,  pass  and  repass,  costumes  from  the  Greek 
islands,  from  the  provinces  of  Asia  Minor, 
from  the  oases  and  nomad  tents  of  Africa, 
from  Persia  and  the  farthest  East.  The  trav 
eler's  first  view  of  Canea,  from  the  rowboat 
that  takes  him  ashore,  is  a  half  moon  of 
white  houses,  splashed  with  red,  terra  cotta, 
yellow  and  striped  awnings,  and  beneath,  a 
squirming,  ever-changing  mass  of  bright  tur 
bans  and  sashes,  fluttering  black  and  yellow 
robes,  naked  limbs  and  chests — and  donkeys; 
moth-eaten  donkeys  laden  with  sacks,  goat 
skins  of  honey  and  cheese,  huge  panniers  of 
green  vegetables.  There  on  the  right,  in  let 
ters  that  can  be  read  a  mile  away,  is  the  name 
of  a  cafe  dedicated  "Au  Concert  Europeen." 
This  is  a  bait  for  the  foreigners  attached  to 
the  half-do<zen  steel  hulks  floating  out  yonder  in 
the  sea,  pointing  ever  shoreward  their  great 
guns  that  seem  to  whisper: 

"Be  good.  Don't  kill  each  other,  or  we'll 
kill  you  all." 

All  Europeans  are  supposed  to  speak 
French.  Several  of  the  cafes  announce  their 


A  GMTTEKIKG  ESPLANADE       213 

business  in  more  than  one  tongue:  Greek, 
Turkish,  English,  Italian.  Under  the  awning 
of  one  sits  a  group  of  elderly  Mohammedans, 
smoking  their  bubbling  narghiles  and  reading 
the  tiny  local  sheet;  these  are  stout  gentlemen 
in  fezzes,  pillars  of  Islam,  faithful  husbands  of 
harems.  They  have  kindly  faces  and  are  really 
good-hearted  men  whom  no  provocation, 
save  that  of  religion,  could  induce  to  cut  your 
throat.  You  sit  down  and  a  bare-legged 
waiter,  whose  fez  and  braid-trimmed  jacket 
are  sadly  faded,  "zigzags"  among  the  chairs, 
like  a  fly  through  raindrops,  and  stands  at 
your  side,  the  very  incarnation  of  silent  and 
respectful  inquiry.  You  are  tired  and  you  say: 

"Some  cognac  and  brown  soda."  The 
waiter  looks  distressed,  puzzled. 

"Cognac,"  you  repeat,  "cognac  and  cold 
water,  then." 

He  casts  his  eye  over  the  group  of  pillars, 
and  one  of  them,  the  fattest  and  most  benevo 
lent  appearing,  carefully  wipes  the  mouthpiece 
of  his  narghile  and  hands  the  tube  to  his 
nearest  neighbor.  The  latter  accepts  the  trust 
with  a  grave  bow;  it  is  his  duty  now  to  give 
the  pipe  an  occasional  pull,  that  it  may  not  go 
out  during  his  friend's  absence. 

The  proprietor  of  the  cafe,  for  it  is  he,  ap- 


214  3LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

preaches  you.  He  bends  low,  with  a  sign  as 
though  pressing  his  hand  upon  the  earth, 
then,  straightening,  he  touches  his  heart,  his 
lips,  his  forehead.  It  is  a  most  graceful  and 
courteous  salutation;  it  is  the  greeting  of  the 
very  heart  of  the  East — the  salaam.  ' 

"We  have  no  cognac  nor  any  intoxicating 
liquor,"  he  explains  in  tolerable  French.  "This 
is  a  Mohammedan  cafe.  You  can  get  spirit 
uous  drinks  yonder  at  the  Greek  cafe." 

"Ah,  but  we  have  no  desire  to  change.  We 
are  thirsty.  Surely  he  has  something  to 
quench  thirst?" 

"Certainly,  many  things,  as  for  instance, 
cherry  water,  lemonade,  almond  water. 
'A  cup  of  Turkish  coffee  or  a  piece  of  loukoumi 
with  a  glass  of  cold  spring  water,  are  also  good 
things  to  quench  the  thirst." 

You  decide  upon  cherry  water,  an  excellent 
drink  made  from  stirring  a  quantity  of  pre 
served  sour  cherries  into  a  glass  of  cold  water, 
and  mine  host  returns  to  his  narghile. 

The  kaleidoscope  keeps  turning,  presenting 
new  combinations,  new  colors,  new  effects. 
At  times  the  whole  square  is  crowded,  and 
again  the  mass  of  humanity  breaks  up  and 
drifts  away,  as  sometimes  happens  to  a  dense 
cloud.  Then  some  grotesque  or  sublime 


A  GLITTERING  ESPLANADE         2 1 5 

figure  or  group  of  figures  is  sure  to  straggle 
across  the  rift.  You  sip  your  cooling  drink  and 
look  up.  There  go  two  Greek  priests,  in  flow 
ing  dark  robes  and  high,  black  hats.  They  are 
tall  men  with  red,  swarthy  cheeks  and  luxu 
riant  beards.  They  wear  their  hair  long, 
neatly  done  up  in  Psyche  knots.  They  walk 
with  dignified  strides,  their  hands  crossed 
upon  their  stomachs  and  hidden  in  voluminous 
sleeves.  They  both  carry  strings  of  large 
beads  of  polished  wood.  The  crowd  closes 
in  behind  them,  to  open  out  again  good- 
naturedly,  as  a  Cretan  in  soft  red  fez,  shirt 
sleeves,  blue  breeches  with  a  seat  that  drags 
upon  the  ground  and  high,  yellow  boots, 
swings  a  long  crook  to  right  and  left  and 
shouts  frantically  to  his  flock  of  scurry 
ing  turkeys.  The  birds  dart  in  and  out  among 
the  throng  with  an  action  that  reminds  one 
of  a  woman  lifting  her  skirts  and  stepping 
through  the  mud.  He  is  assisted  by  a  boy  of 
ten,  an  exact  reproduction  of  himself  in  minia 
ture. 

A  priest  of  Islam  passes;  he,  too,  in  a  grace 
ful  robe  that  falls  to  the  ground  from  his 
shoulders.  A  thick  turban  encircles  his  brow. 
He  is  tall  and  slender  one  moment,  corpulent 


2i6  UKE  ANOTHER  HE3LEN 

the  next,  according  as  the  wind  inflates  his 
robe  or  escapes  and  allows  it  to  collapse. 

What  a  feast  of  color!  And  you  notice  that 
somehow  these  changing  combinations  always 
result  in  harmonies.  One  feels  the  same  effect 
as  though  he  were  listening  to  a  clash  of  bar 
barous  instruments  in  a  sweet,  wild  melody 
of  the  desert. 

There  goes  a  chocolate-colored  Nubian,  in 
a  terra  cotta  tunic,  carrying  a  shining  copper 
kettle  under  each  arm.  His  glistening  feet 
and  legs  are  bare. 

That  bronze-skinned  Arab  yonder  in  the 
white  turban  must  be  a  very  old  man,  for  his 
beard  and  hair  are  as  white  as  the  wool  on  a 
sheep  that  is  newly  washed  and  ready  for  the 
shearer;  yet  he  is  straight  and  lithe  as  a  figure 
on  a  French  clock,  and  his  skin  is  exactly  the 
same  color.  He  wears  a  bright  red  sash  about 
his  waist  and  walks  with  a  staff  as  tall  as  him 
self.  Red  fezzes  everywhere  and  turbans  of  all 
bright  hues. 

But  we  must  have  another  cherry  water — 
vicinada — and  move  into  the  shade. 

Now,  who  are  these  somber-looking  crea 
tures,  coming  across  the  square?  If  there  were 
any  such  thing  on  earth  they  would  be  agents 
of  the  Spanish  Inquisition.  But  that  horror 


A  GLITTERING  ESPLANADE         217 

•does  not  exist  even  in  Turkey.  Through  the 
warm  yellow  sun  they  move,  slowly,  silently, 
muffled  all  in  black,  with  black  umbrellas 
above  their  heads — shapeless,  sepulchral  fig 
ures.  On  the  black  veil  that  covers  each  face 
are  painted  white  eyes,  a  nose  and  a  mouth; 
or  a  palm  tree  or  other  device.  They  stroll  by 
us  talking  in  whispers,  but  a  silvery  girlish 
laugh,  stifled  almost  in  its  birth,  betrays  them. 
Ah,  sweet  demons,  we  know  you  now!  These 
are  nuns  of  love,  houris  of  the  harem.  Who 
knows  what  sweet  faces,  merry  eyes,  red  lips, 
warm  and  yielding  forms  masquerade  in  those 
forbidding  garments?  We  knqw  you  now; 
not  all  the  disguises  ever  invented  by  fanati 
cism  and  jealousy  can  cover  the  roguish  fea 
tures  of  love.  That  one  little,  stifled  laugh 
conjured  up  more  poetry  and  romance  than 
could  be  read  in  a  summer's  holiday — the 
Arabian  Nights,  Don  Juan,  and  the  vision  of 
Dudu;  the  song  of  the  bulbul  in  old  gardens, 
dangerous  trystings  in  the  shadow  of  the  cy 
press  trees;  Tom  Moore  in  a  city  office, 
dreaming  of  camel  bells  and  the  minarets  of 
Ispahan. 

Donkeys.  Out  from  under  the  low  stone 
arches  they  come,  or  down  the  straggling  nar 
row  street,  slipping  and  staggering  over  the 


MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

greasy  cobblestones,  yet  never  falling.  There 
is  one  driven  by  a  Cretan  boy,  another  by  a 
jet  black  Nubian,  with  thick  lips  and  shell- 
white  teeth,  another  by  a  shuffling  Greek 
monk  in  dirty  robe.  Each  in  his  own  outland 
ish  way  curses  and  threatens  his  animal,  but 
the  stick  falls  with  the  same  rattling  thwack 
on  the  bony  ribs,  whether  wielded  by  Chris 
tian  or  Turk.  Look  at  the  loads  which  the 
donkeys  bear  in  their  immense,  squeaking 
baskets,  and  you  will  gain  some  idea  of  the 
fertility  of  this  garden  spot  of  the  world,  har 
ried  though  it  be  by  oppression  and  blood 
shed.  We  see  borne  by  or  arranged  in  heaps 
yonder  on  the  pavement,  great  quantities  of  cu 
cumbers,  artichokes,  beans,  cauliflower,  gar 
lic,  tomatoes,  courgets,  eggplant,  medlars, 
apricots,  cherries,  and  those  various  wild 
greens  which  are  so  delicious,  but  which  can 
not  be  bought  in  the  cities  of  America  for  love 
or  money.  If  you  ask  the  price  of  any  of  these 
crisp,  tender  vegetables  or  fruits  dewy  fresh, 
you  will  find  that  one  penny  will  go  as  far  as 
twenty-five  would  among  the  stale,  withered 
and  niggardly  exhibits  of  Chicago — the  em 
porium  of  the  great  Mississippi  valley  and  the 
hub  of  a  hundred  railroads.  But  there  is  no 
cabbage  trust  in  Crete,  and  the  donkey  route 


A  GLITTERING  ESPLANADE          219 

has  no  board  of  directors  to  fix  the  price  of 
freight. 

It  is  evident  that  the  sea  is  no  less  prodigal 
of  her  riches  here  than  the  land,  for  ragged 
urchins  dart  by  every  few  moments  carrying 
fine  catches  of  fish,  strung  upon  strands  of 
tenacious  reed;  mullets  that  gleam  like  gold  in 
the  sun,  silvery  mackerel,  still  quivering  with 
life  and  glittering  with  dripping  brine,  baskets 
of  white-bait,  leaping  upon  a  bed  of  green  sea- 
grass  ;  echini  and  huge  lobsters  without  claws. 

But  alas!  this  seeming  plenty  is  naught 
more  than  the  crumbs  from  nature's  table — 
harpy  war  has  seized  the  feast.  t  Above  all  the 
hum  of  tongues,  the  braying  of  donkeys,  the 
rattle  of  shod  feet  on  the  cobbles,  rings  out  at 
intervals  the  bugle's  wakening  call.  Turkish 
soldiers  lounge  about  the  streets,  squat, 
greasy,  ungroomed,  cruel.  There  is  a  slight 
smell  of  smoke  in  the  air,  as  the  wind  drifts 
over  from  the  smouldering  ruins  of  the  Chris 
tian  quarter,  burned  during  the  latest  outbreak. 
Possibly  there  is  a  charred  body  or  two  among 
the  cinders,  but  pshaw!  you  cannot  smell  that. 
It  is  only  imagination.  And  here  comes  a  for 
eign  military  demonstration.  They  are  Ital 
ians,  immaculate  in  brown  linen,  with  tufts  of 
long  blue  feathers  rustling  spitefully  in  their 


220  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

Garibaldi  hats.  .Down  the  street  they  swing 
at  double  quick,  and  through  the  crowded 
quay  they  plunge,  while  the  lazy  Orien 
tals  scramble  out  of  the  way.  How  these  Ital 
ians  glitter!  There  is  a  bugle  corps  in  front, 
with  shining  instruments,  and  an  Adonis  of  an 
officer  at  the  side  with  flashing,  drawn  sword; 
a  bayonet  slants  skyward  from  every  shoulder 
in  the  squad,  dancing  and  blazing  in  the  tropic 
sun.  They  are  gone  and  the  throng  closes  in 
again,  like  \vater  in  the  wrake  of  a  ship. 

Such  is  Canea,  below  its  many  colored  awn 
ings.  Cast  your  eye  above  them  and  you  see 
the  square  white  houses  of  a  Greek  town. 
Look  higher  up,  and  there  is  the  Grecian  sky, 
the  same  sky  that  looked  down  upon  the  birth 
of  Jove  and  the  giving  of  Cretan  law,  upon 
the  flitting  sail  that  brought  the  yearly  tribute 
of  youths  and  maidens  from  Athens,  upon  the 
knightly  vengeance  of  Theseus,  striding  down 
the  labyrinth,  all  clad  in  ringing  mail.  Cen 
turies  of  oppression  may  drag  their  slow 
length  along,  the  children  of  the  desert  may 
come  and  go  as  they  will,  but  that  chaste 
sweet  sky  is  patiently  waiting  above.  And 
beneath  it  is  Greece. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THREE   WIVES 
•» 

A  TURKISH  woman,  closely  veiled  and 
carrying  a  black  umbrella,  was  walk 
ing  along  the  Spladjia,  or  principal 
street  of  Canea.  A  nondescript  urchin,  bare 
footed,  with  a  tuft  of  black  hair  shooting 
straight  up  through  a  rent  in  his  straw  hat, 
followed  with  a  string  of  red  mullets  and  a 
sheaf  of  Italian  lettuce.  As  the  mysterious 
woman  passed  the  little  group  of  men  sit 
ting  under  the  awnings,  they  turned  their  heads 
discreetly  to  one  side,  not  even  casting  a  fur 
tive  glance  at  the  dainty,  embroidered  slip 
pers,  that  now  and  then  peeped  out  from  un 
der  the  black  robe.  Turning  down  a  narrow 
street,  she  tiptoed  along  beneath  the  project 
ing  upper  stories  of  the  houses,  with  that  mo 
tion  peculiar  to  women  whose  slippers  are  so 
constructed  that  they  fall  off  if  the  toe  is  not 
shoved  into  them  at  each  successive  step. 
Stopping  for  a  moment,  she  drew  a  handker 
chief  from  her  bosom,  and,  passing  it  under 
her  veil,  wiped  her  face. 

"Whew !"  she  said,  "it's  hot."    Then,  raising 
221 


222         :LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

her  head,  she  sniffed  the  air  sharply,  eagerly. 

"Allah  be  praised!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  be 
lieve  that  Ayesha  is  roasting  coffee." 

The  thought  accelerated  her  footsteps  to 
such  an  extent  that  the  rapid  sliding  of  her 
slippers  on  the  path  sounded  like  the  prepar 
atory  steps  of  a  jig  dancer  in  the  sand  box. 

"Yes,  that's  from  our  court,  surely.  I  do 
hope  it's  nearly  ready  to  grind.  What's  so 
delicious  as  a  cup  of  fresh  coffee  and  a  glass 
of  cold  water  when  one  is  hot  and  thirsty?" 

The  aroma  certainly  proceeded  from  a  gar 
den  which  the  Turkish  woman  was  now  ap 
proaching,  and  as  she  arrived  at  the  massive 
gate  in  the  high  adobe  wall  the  sound  of  a 
coffee  roaster  in  motion  could  plainly  be 
heard  within.  Souleima  gave  the  boy  a  pen 
ny,  whereupon  he  set  up  such  a  loud  and  volu 
ble  protest  that  she  was  obliged  to  give  him 
five  paradhes  more,  with  a  threat  to  open  the 
gate  and  let  out  an  imaginary  dog  of  fearful 
biting  powers  if  he  did  not  instantly  depart. 
The  boy  out  of  the  way,  Souleima  knocked 
upon  the  gate  and  cried. 

"Ayesha,  Ferende!  let  me  in!" 

"Go  open  the  gate,  it's  Souleima,"  said  a 
voice  within. 


THREE  WIVES  223 

"Go  yourself.  When  did  I  become  a  door 
opener?" 

"Bah!  Don't  you  see  I  can't  leave  the  cof 
fee?  It'll  burn." 

The  sound  of  a  rattling  chain,  and  a  woman 
peeped  out,  holding  a  black  veil  over  the 
lower  part  of  her  face.  Souleima  entered, 
shutting  and  locking  the  gate  after  her. 

"Whew!"  she  exclaimed,  pulling  off  her 
veil  with  the  finger  and  thumb  of  the  hand 
that  now  held  the  sheaf  of  lettuce, 

"It's  hot  outside.  You  two  ought  to  be 
thankful  to  me,  running  around  in  the  sun  for 
you,  while  you  sit  here  in  the  cool  shade." 

"Very  cool  it  is  here  by  this  fire,"  retorted 
Ayesha.  "It's  Ferende  who  is  the  lady  these 
days.  Never  mind,  my  girl,  when  Panayota 
comes  to  her  senses  you  will  have  to  work  like 
your  betters.  You're  getting  fat,  too,  and 
Kostakes  is  tired  of  fat  women.  Isn't  she  get 
ting  fat,  my  Souleima?" 

The  lady  appealed  to  made  no  reply,  but, 
going  over  to  the  water  faucet  that  projected 
from  a  marble  slab  built  into  one  side  of  the 
wall,  hung  the  string  of  fish  from  the  iron 
cock,  laid  the  lettuce  in  the  stone  basin  beneath, 
and  turned  on  a  thin  stream  of  cold  water. 

Ayesha  and  Souleima  are  about  of  an  age 


224  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

— thirty.  They  are  both  fat,  dark  and  greasy, 
with  black  eyes  and  black  hair.  Their  lips 
are  thick  and  their  teeth  not  too  good.  Their 
complexions  are  muddy  and  their  faces  some 
what  pimpled.  Ferende  is  a  strapping  Albanian 
girl,  about  Panayota's  age,  though  of  coarser 
build.  Like  the  beautiful  Greek  who  is  under 
lock  and  key  upstairs,  she  has  soft  brown  hair 
and  brown  eyes,  set  wide  apart  in  her  head. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  things  are  not  running 
smoothly  in  Kostakes'  harem,  and  the  reason 
is  this:  Until  recently  Ferende  has  been  the 
favorite,  and  the  two  elder  wives  have  been 
little  more  than  her  servants.  The  appear 
ance  of  Panayota  has  led  them  to  believe  that 
a  new  mistress  will  soon  be  established  in  the 
household,  and  they  are  looking  forward  with 
great  delight  to  the  degradation  of  Ferende. 
The  latter,  fearing  her  own  downfall,  has  not 
openly  declared  war  against  her  two  asso 
ciates,  but  is  racking  her  brain  night  and  day 
in  search  of  some  method  by  which  to  enlist 
them  with  her  against  Panayota. 

Ayesha  now  sits  with  her  bare  feet  crossed 
under  her,  upon  a  rug  spread  on  the  earthen 
floor  of  the  court.  Before  her  is  a  charcoal 
fire,  suspended  over  which  on  two  crotches 
driven  into  the  ground  is  a  thing  like  a  section 


THREE  WIVES  .          225 

of  stove  pipe,  closed  at  the  ends.  An  iron  rod, 
running  lengthwise  of  this  contrivance,  rests 
upon  the  crotches  and  is  bent  at  one  extrem 
ity  into  a  crank. 

Souleima  removes  her  outer  garments  and 
appears  arrayed  like  her  sisters,  in  baggy 
breeches  drawn  tight  about  the  ankle,  and  a 
loose  fitting  shirt.  She  kicks  off  her  slippers 
and  walks  in  her  stockinged  feet  to  the  coffee 
roaster. 

"Is  it  ready  yet,  Ayesha?"  she  asks,  open 
ing  a  little  door  in  one  side  of  the  cylinder,  and 
letting  out  a  black  cloud  of  aroma, 

"Can  I  take  out  enough  for  orie  little  cup?" 

"You  might  find  enough  for  two  while  you 
are  about  it." 

"Yes,  even  for  three.  Poor  Ferende,  she 
will  soon  have  to  grind  her  own  coffee,  and 
Panay  ota's,  too." 

Souleima  produced  a  wooden  spoon  from 
the  drawer  of  a  pine  table  standing  beneath 
the  garden's  one  mulberry  tree,  and  dipped  a 
quantity  of  the  brown  smoking  berries  into 
one  of  those  cylindrical  brass  mills  which  are 
sold  by  wandering  gypsies  to  the  housewives 
of  the  orient.  Sitting  on  the  table's  edge,  she 
grasped  the  mill  with  her  left  hand  and  firm 
ly  embedded  one  end  of  it  in  the  fat  of  her 


226  UKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

corpulent  stomach,  while  she  turned  the  tiny 
crank  with  her  right. 

The  ladies  of  Kostakes'  household  could 
converse  or  carry  on  their  domestic  vocations 
without  fear  of  intruding  eyes.  The  wall  was 
very  high,  and  the  one  house  near  enough 
to  overlook  it  had  no<  windows  on  that  side. 
A  pleasant  place  was  that  enclosure,  albeit  two 
long,  shallow,  rectangular  tubs  leaned  against 
the  wall  of  the  house,  taking  the  place  of  the 
legendary  guitar.  They  were  washtubs,  and 
upon  them  Ayesha  and  Souleima  from  time 
to  time  played  the  stern  music  of  necessity. 
A  huge  copper  kettle,  with  a  very  black  bot 
tom,  stood  near,  another  adjunct  of  the  home 
laundry.  In  the  middle  of  the  court  was  a 
stone  basin,  into  which  water  ran  through  a 
tiny  channel  from  the  hydrant  in  the  wall. 

"Na!"  said  Souleima,  unscrewing  the  top 
of  the  mill  and  looking  inside,  "that  will  be 
enough,  I  think.  We'll  have  a  cup  of  coffee 
first,  and  then  some  dinner,  out  here  under 
the  tree.  Look  at  those  fish.  Did  you  ever 
see  finer  barbounia?  What  do  you  think  I 
paid  an  oke  for  them?" 

"Ninety  paradhes!'  suggested  Ayesha. 

"Only  eighty.  I  bought  them  of  a  Greek. 
Ferende,  clean  them,  that's  a  good  girl,  while 
I  make  a  cup  of  coffee." 


THREE  "WIVES  227 

"Clean  them  yourself.  I  shall  tell  the  Ef- 
fendi  of  these  insults  when  he  comes,  and  he 
will  make  you  suffer  for  them." 

"Poor  Ferende!"  cackled  Souleima.  "He 
will  take  off  those  silk  trousers  and  put  them 
on  Panayota.  But  you  shouldn't  complain 
now  that  your  turn  has  come.  Better  people 
than  you  have  been  through  the  same  thing." 

"If  you  ever  went  through  it,"  snapped  Fe 
rende,  "it  was  so  long  ago  you  can't  remem 
ber  it,"  and  rising  disdainfully,  she  walked 
into  the  house.  Souleima  raised  the  coffee 
mill  as  though  to  hurl  it  after  her,  and  then 
thinking  better  of  the  act,  let  fyer  hand  fall  to 
her  side. 

"Maybe  she'll  be  able  to  warm  Kostakes 
over  again,"  she  reflected  aloud. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  replied  Ayesha.  "He's 
crazy  about  this  Greek.  I  never  saw  him  like 
this  before." 

"Then  why  does  he " 

"I  don't  know.  Perhaps  he  wants  the  girl 
to  love  him." 

"Bah!  She'll  love  him  fast  enough  after  he 
breaks  her  spirit." 

Souleima  filled  a  long-handled  brass  dipper 
from  the  hydrant  and  put  into  the  water  the 
coffee,  ground  fine  as  dust,  together  with  four 


228  UKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

teaspoonfuls  of  sugar.  Then,  screening  her 
face  with  her  left  hand,  she  kneeled  in  front 
of  the  fire  and  held  the  dipper  in  the  coals  un 
til  its  contents  boiled  over.  Ayesha  lifted  the 
smoking  cylinder  from  the  crotches  and, 
shaking  it  violently  for  a  moment,  set  it  up 
against  the  side  of  the  house. 

"Shall  I  bring  two  <:ups  or  three?"  she 
called  from  the  door  of  the  kitchen. 

"Only  two.  Let  Ferende  make  her  own 
coffee." 

"Hadn't  I  better  call  her?" 

"You'll  only  get  insulted  if  you  do.  The 
nasty  cat!" 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A   HOPELESS   PRISONER 

PANAYOTA  was  walking  to  and  fro  in 
a  room  whose  one  window  looked 
straight  against  the  blank  wall  of  a 
house  not  ten  feet  distant.  A  grating  of  iron 
bars  prevented  her  escape  in  that  direction 
and  the  door  was  locked.  She  was  very  pale 
and  there  were  deep  circles  under  her  eyes. 
She  was  muttering  as  one  distracted.  Occa 
sionally  she  raised  her  eyes  and  hands  to 
heaven. 

"Dear  little  Virgin,  all  Holy  One,  save  me 
from  this  infamy,  from  the  pollution  of  the 
Turk.  Save  me  in  any  way,  help  me  to  es 
cape  or  to  die!" 

After  each  prayer  she  stood  listening,  as 
though  waiting  for  an  immediate  response — 
some  miraculous  intervention  in  her  behalf. 
Often  seized  by  utter  despair,  she  sank  her 
fingers  deep  into  her  thick  brown  locks,  and 
cried: 

"No  help,  no  help,  O  God !  O  God !" 

At  every  sound  of  a  footstep  without,  or 

229 


230         LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

of  any  commotion  in  the  court  below,  her 
pale  face  grew  paler,  and  she  trembled  with 
fear  and  revulsion.  She  was  expecting  Kos- 
takes.  For  a  week  now  the  girl  had  been 
shut  up  in  this  manner.  Kostakes  had  left 
her  in  the  care  of  his  harem,  with  stern  com 
mands  that  she  be  kindly  treated  and  all  her 
wants  supplied.  Ayesha  and  Souleima  had 
derived  much  pleasure  from  attending  upon 
Panayota,  as  though  she  were  indeed  a  mem 
ber  of  the  harem  and  their  lord's  favorite;  for 
thus  they  caused  Ferende,  whom  they  cor 
dially  hated,  much  unhappiness.  It  seemed 
to-  Panayota  that  she  had  been  in  captivity  an 
age.  For  the  first  three  or  four  days  she  had 
hoped  for  a  rescue  by  Lindbohm  and  Curtis 
and  their  band  of  insurgents.  Time  and 
again  the  wild  scenes  which  she  had  witnessed 
passed  through  her  mind  as  she  stood  with 
hands  clasped  and  eyes  half  closed  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  floor.  She  saw  again  the  impet 
uous  Swede  chasing  Ampates  out  of  town  be 
cause  the  scoundrel  had  wished  to  give  her 
up;  she  saw  Curtis  standing  before  her  with 
his  smoking  rifle,  while  the  fallen  Turk,  his 
features  still  twitching  in  the  death  agony, 
lay  at  her  feet. 

But  as  the  days  passed  and  no  help  came, 


A  HOPELESS  PRISONER  231 

her  keen  hope  faded  into  the  blackness  of  des 
pair. 

'They  cannot  find  me,"  she  moaned;  "per 
haps  they're  dead.  Perhaps  they  think  I  have 
yielded  to  the  Turk,  and  they  despise  me.  Do 
they  not  know  that  I  would  die  first?"  When 
ever  she  thought  of  death,  her  mind  involun 
tarily  sought  for  some  method  by  which  she 
could  accomplish  it,  if  worst  came  to  worst. 
To  hold  her  breath,  to  plunge  her  head 
against  the  side  of  the  wall,  to  strangle  her 
self  with  a  strip  torn  from  her  bed  clothing, 
— all  these  ideas  suggested  themselves.  And  as 
often  as  she  thought  of  self-destruction,  there 
rose  to  memory  a  slender  white  shaft  that  had 
frequently  been  pointed  out  to  her  in  child 
hood.  For  there  had  once  been  a  suicide  in 
her  native  village,  and  the  body  had  been  bur 
ied  in  a  lonely  place  on  a  hill,  far  away  from 
the  holy  comradeship,  the  blessed  crosses  and 
the  benediction  of  God's  acre.  This  isolated 
tomb  had  made  a  great  impression  on  her 
childish  mind.  She  and  the  other  children 
had  always  crossed  themselves  when  they  saw 
it,  and  they  never  mentioned  the  dead  man's 
name.  It  seemed  a  terrible  thing  not  to  be 
buried  in  consecrated  ground. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
A   PROMISE   OF   HELP 

6  4  T  WONDER  if  that  Greek  will  come  to 

her  senses  and  supplant  me?"  mused 

Ferende.      "If    she   keeps   on   at   her 

present  rate  Kostakes  will  soon  get  over  his 

infatuation.     Lord!     But  she's  growing  ugly, 

with  that  sallow  complexion  and  those  big 

black  marks  under  her  eyes.     She  never  saw 

the  day  she  was  half  as  beautiful  as  I  am." 

Going  to  Panayota's  room,  she  took  down 
the  key  that  was  hanging  outside  the  door 
and  went  in.  Locking  the  door  on  the  inside 
she  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  the  girl, 
who  sat  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  her  face  buried 
in  her  hands.  Panayota  glanced  up  when  Fe 
rende  first  entered  and  then  took  no  further 
notice  of  her  visitor.  She  knew  that  this  was 
the  favorite,  although  Ferende,  consulting 
her  dignity,  had  had  little  to  say  to  her. 

"Panayota,"  very  sweetly,  "I  am  your 
friend.  I,  too,  am  a  Greek,  and  was  brought 
up  in  the  Greek  religion,  but  the  Turks  killed 
my  father  and  mother  and  took  me  away 

232 


A  PROMISE  OF  HELP  233 

when  I  was  very  young.  I  cannot  help  being 
what  I  am,  but  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I  would 
let  them  kill  me  before  they  should  turn  me 
into  a  Turk.  And  you  a  priest's  daughter, 
too!" 

A  sudden  wild  hope  thrilled  Panayota's 
bosom.  She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  ran  to 
ward  Ferende  with  arms  outstretched. 

'The  Holy  Virgin  bless  you!  So  you  have 
come  to  set  me  free?" 

Now  Ferende  could  not  do  this,  however 
much  she  would  have  liked.  Could  Ayesha 
and  Souleima  once  fix  upon  her  the  blame  of 
having  disobeyed  a  command  of  their  com 
mon  husband,  no  subsequent  wiles  could  save 
her  from  complete  degradation. 

"O,  I  dare  not  set  you  free  now,"  she  fal 
tered,  somewhat  embarrassed  by  the  sudden 
ness  of  the  demand,  "but — " 

"Then  save  me,  Holy  Virgin!"  cried  Pana- 
yota,  the  bright  gleam  of  hope  dying  within 
her,  leaving  her  soul  darker  than  before. 
"There  is  no  other  help  for  me.  Aren't  you 
ashamed,  coming  here  to  mock  me?  What 
else  do  I  want  except  to  get  out  of  this  place. 
You  say  you  are  a  Greek,  and  I  believe  you  are. 
But  what  could  I  expect  from  you  ?  You  are 
worse  than  a  Turk,  for  their  women  believe 


234  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

at  least  that  they  are  honestly  married.  But 
you — you  are  a  common  thing." 

Ferende  winced  under  this  torrent  of  abuse, 
but  there  was  a  certain  point  which  she  wished 
to  make  sure. 

"You  talk  very  bravely  now,  my  lady,"  she 
replied.  "Many  Greek  girls  have  talked  like 
that  before.  It's  easy  for  a  girl  to  remain 
Christian  as  long  as  she  can  save  her  honor, 
but  after  that  is  gone  the  Christians  are  more 
cruel  than  the  Turks.  Then  the  only  way  to 
remain  respectable  is  to  turn  Turk." 

"I  swear  to  you  by  the  soul  of  my  father, 
whom  Kostakes  murdered,  that  I  will  die  be 
fore  I  will  yield!"  cried  Panayota. 

Ferende  with  difficulty  suppressed  an  ex 
clamation  o<f  joy.  Simulating  sorrow,  she  laid 
her  hand  on  Panayota's  shoulder  and  mur 
mured  : 

"Did  Kostakes  kill  your  father?  Forgive 
me,  Panayota,  for  speaking  so  harshly,  but 
you  were  very  hard  on  me.  Now  we  can 
sympathize  with  each  other,  indeed.  Both 
my  parents  were  murdered  by  the  Turks.  I 
must  go  now,  but  remember  I  am  your  friend. 
Hold  out  against  Kostakes  and  I  will  find 
some  way  to  help  you." 


A  PROMISE  OF  HELP  235 

She  turned  to  leave  the  room,  but  Panayota 
caught  her  by  the  sleeve. 

"Help  me  to  escape  from  here/'  she 
sobbed.  "I  beg  of  you  in  the  name  of  your 
Christian  mother,  and  I  will  pray  the  Virgin 
every  night  to  bless  you." 

Ferende  locked  the  door  behind  her  and 
hung  up  the  key. 

"Kostakes  will  have  a  sorry  time  with  her," 
she  soliloquized,  and  she  went  down  stairs 
humming  a  popular  Greek  song. 

Finding  Ayesha  and  Souleima  still  in  the 
court,  exchanging  gallant  confidences,  she 
strolled  up  to  them  with  the 'insolent  air  of  a 
queen. 

"Get  up,  you  women/'  she  said,  "and  pre 
pare  dinner." 

Poor  Ayesha  and  Souleima  looked  inquir 
ingly  into  each  other's  eyes.  Thus  was  Fe 
rende  wont  to  act  after  some  special  mark  of 
Kostakes'  favor  had  inflated  her  confidence. 
They  arose  slowly.  The  favorite  jerked  away 
the  rug  and  spread  it  in  the  shade  of  the  mul 
berry  tree.  Sitting  upon  it,  she  removed  her 
gold  embroidered  slippers  and  crossed  her 
stockinged  feet  beneath  her.  As  the  two  older 
wives  glanced  at  her,  their  hearts  sank  within 
them*  She  certainly  did  not  have  the  appear- 


236         LIKE  ANOTHER 

ance  of  a  deposed  queen.  Her  eyes,  recently 
treated  with  belladonna,  had  a  melting,  lus 
trous  look.  The  little  dash  of  henna  under 
the  lower  fringe  of  lashes  added  a  touch 
of  abandon.  Her  trousers  of  magenta  silk, 
and  her  sleeveless  purple  jacket  embroidered 
with  gold  thread,  were  immaculate,  save  for 
a  loose  hair  or  two,  or  a  speck  of  dust, 
which  she  removed  with  dainty  finger  tips. 
Twisted  carelessly  about  her  waist,  with  the 
knotted  ends  hanging  loosely  at  one  side, 
was  a  broad  sash  with  yellow  and  magenta 
stripes.  Passing  her  hand  beneath  this,  she 
extracted  a  silver  cigarette  case.  Putting  a 
brown  cigarette  no  larger  in  diameter  than  a 
slate  pencil,  into  her  mouth,  she  called  out  lazily 
between  her  closed  teeth : 

"Ayesha,  bring  a  match  and  light  my  cigar 
ette,"  and  Ayesha,  with  a  muttered  Moslem 
imprecation,  obeyed. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

PRIDE   AND   ITS    FALL 

ALAS,  for  human  greatness!  A  horseman 
trotting  along  the  stony  street  drew 
up  in  front  of  the  gate  with  a  sudden 
cessation  of  the  jingling  of  a  saber  and  the 
rattling  of  trappings.  Two  musket  butts 
struck  the  ground  simultaneously,  as  the  two 
sentries  at  the  gate  finished  their  salute.  Aye- 
sha  dropped  the  fish  which  she  was  cleaning 
at  the  hydrant,  wiped  her  hands  upon  her 
dirty  apron  and  tore  it  from  her  waist.  Soule- 
ima  set  a  little  pile  of  dishes  upon  the  table 
and  tried  to  pat  her  straggling  hair  into  place. 
A  heavy  hand,  supplemented  by  a  cavalry 
boot,  shook  the  gate  till  the  fastenings  rat 
tled. 

"Merciful  Allah,  the  Effendi!"  screamed 
Ayesha  and  Souleima  under  the  breath,  and 
they  both  rushed  to  the  gate,  but  they  were 
too  good  Turks  to  open  without  inquiring 
sweetly: 

"Who is  it?" 

"It's  I,  Kostakes.  Open  the  gate  before  I 
kick  it  down." 

237 


238  LIKE  ANOTHER  HEIjEN 

"He's  angry !"  whispered  Souleima,  undoing 
the  fastenings. 

Kostakes  paid  no  attention  to  the  low  sa 
laams  of  his  two  wives.  He  strode  into  the 
middle  of  the  garden  and,  plucking  off  his 
sword,  cried  fiercely: 

"Here!  Some  of  you  lazy  women,  take  my 
sword.  Ayesha,  bring  me  a  chair.  Souleima, 
fetch  my  slippers." 

He  sank  into  the  proffered  chair  with  a  sigh 
of  satisfaction.  The  Effendi  had  been  riding 
hard  and  was  evidently  tired.  He  was  un 
comfortable  too,  and  needed  a  bath  and 
grooming.  A  prickly  black  beard  had  grown 
upon  his  square  chin,  and  perspiration  had 
made  little  water  courses  in  the  dust  upon  his 
dark  brown  cheeks.  He  laid  his  right  foot 
upon  his  left  knee,  slapped  his  hands  side  by 
side  upon  the  high  boot  tops,  and  swept  the 
court  with  inquiring  eye. 

"Barbounia,  eh?"  he  inquired  of  Ayesha,  as 
his  glance  fell  upon  the  string  of  half  cleaned 
mullets. 

"Yes,  Effendi." 

"Are  they  fresh,  eh?  Are  they  fresh?" 

"Fresh,  Effendi?    They  are  alive." 

"Brava,  brava!"    There  was  a  softer  note 


PRIDE  A1STD  ITS  FALI,  239 

to  his  voice.  "Well,  get  'em  ready ;  I  haven't 
had  anything  to  eat  in  twelve  hours." 

"Yes,  Effendi;  immediately,  Effendi." 

Ayesha  trotted  over  to  the  hydrant  and  be 
gan  scaling  the  mullets  with  commendable 
zeal. 

Kostakes  seized  the  heel  and  toe  of  his  boot 
and  gave  an  ineffectual  tug.  Then  he  glanced 
about  the.  court  again.  Souleima  had  not  yet 
returned  with  the  slippers. 

Ayesha  was  scratching  away  at  the  fish  as 
though  she  were  trying  to  break  a  record. 
The  Effendi  glanced  sharply  at  Ferende !  From 
mere  force  of  habit  he  had  hot  ordered  her 
to  do  anything.  In  the  stress  of  fatigue  and 
immediate  necessity,  he  had  turned  naturally 
to  the  two  old  wheel-horses  of  his  harem.  Fe 
rende  was  holding  her  cigarette  between  two 
fingers  of  her  left  hand,  and  was  gazing  up 
into  the  mulberry  tree  with  affected  uncon 
cern.  Her  lips  were  slightly  parted  and  a  little 
red  spot  glowed  angrily  in  each  cheek.  At 
another  time  Kostakes  might  have  thought 
her  beautiful,  but  a  new  idol  had  been  set  up 
in  his  heart,  crowding  poor  Ferende  into  the 
stale  limbo  of  ex-favorites. 

"Here,  you,"  he  called  harshly,  "come  and 
pull  off  my  boots." 


240  JLIKE  ANOTHER  HEJLEN 

Ayesha  glanced  over  her  shoulder  at  her 
lord  and  master.  He  was  plainly  not  looking 
at  her.  She  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and 
chuckled. 

"Do  you  hear?"  shouted  Kostakes.  "Throw 
away  that  cigarette  and  come  here." 

Ferende  turned  as  pale  as  death,  but  called 
to  Ayesha,  sweetly: 

"Don't  you  hear  the  Effendi,  Ayesha? 
Run!" 

Kostakes  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  strode  to 
ward  Ferende  with  uplifted  riding  whip. 

"None  of  that,  you  lazy  drab!  Who  is  mas 
ter  in  this  house,  you  or  I?  Come  and  pull 
off  my  boots  or  I'll  cut  blood  out  of  you!" 

Ferende  obeyed,  with  a  half  counterfeit  of 
a  smile  upon  her  pale  lips,  and  revenge  in  her 
heart. 

"How  long  before  dinner  will  be  ready?" 
Kostakes  called  to  Ayesha. 

"About  twenty  minutes,  Effendi." 

"Call  me  as  soon  as  it  is  ready.  I  shall  be 
up  in  Panayota's  room." 

Then  an  idea  came  to  Ferende.  She  threw 
away  her  cigarette,  crossed  the  court  and  dis 
appeared  in  the  house.  Souleima  ran  after, 
and  hiding  behind  the  wall,  peeped  within. 
She  saw  Ferende  step  out  of  her  slippers  and 


Corae  and  pull  off  my  boots  or  I'll  lash  .YOU 


PRIDE  AND  ITS  FALI*  241 

tiptoe  up  the  stairs  towards  the  room  into 
which  Kostakes  had  just  disappeared.  Soule- 
ima  waited  until  she  was  out  of  sight  and  then 
followed. 

Ayesha,  overcome  by  woman's  curiosity, 
that  passion  which  fears  neither  death  nor 
shame,  clapped  the  fish,  now  ready  for  the 
pan,  into  a  drawer  of  the  table. 

"I  must  know  what's  going  on,"  she  mut 
tered,  as  she  stole  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
AGAINST  THE   COMMON  ENEMY 

PANAYOTA  was  lying  face  down  upon 
the  bed,  but  when  she  heard  heavy 
footsteps  in  the  hall  and  the  scratch 
ing  of  the  key  upon  the  door,  as  some  one 
outside  fumbled  at  the  lock,  she  sprang  to  her 
feet  and  backed  to  the  wall  at  the  farther  side 
of  the  room.  She  cast  her  eyes  about  the  bare, 
dim  room,  as  though  there  must  be  some  way 
of  escape,  moaning,  meanwhile: 

"Little  Virgin,  save  me!  O,  my  God,  what 
shall  I  do?" 

When  Kostakes  entered  he  found  her  thus, 
her  fists  clenched,  her  lips  white.  She  was 
looking  at  him,  with  great  eyes  of  fear  and 
horror,  and  she  scarcely  seemed  to  breathe. 
There  was  in  her  attitude  the  alertness  of  a 
hunted  cat,  that  hopes  to  make  a  sudden  dash 
for  liberty  and  to  escape  even  at  the  last  mo 
ment. 

"In  the  name  of  Allah,  Panayota,"  he  said 
tenderly,  "why  are  you  so  frightened?  Have 
I  not  told  you  I  would  not  touch  a  hair  of 
your  head?" 

242 


AGAINST  THE  COMMON  ENEMY    243 

She  made  no  reply,  but  slid  along  the  wall, 
with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  open  door.  He 
turned  with  an  exclamation  of  impatience, 
shut  it  with  a  slam,  locked  it  and  put  the  key 
in  his  pocket. 

"Na!"  he  said,  "don't  think  of  escaping. 
Try  to  fix  your  mind  on  what  I  am  going  to 
say  to  you.  In  the  first  place,  I  swear  to  you 
by  my  hopes  of  salvation  that  I  mean  you  no 
harm.  Now  listen  to  me1 — I  love  you,  Pana- 
yota." 

"Is  that  why  you  murdered  my  father?" 

"Why  do  you  say  that  I  murdered  your 
father?" 

"Bring  him  to  me  alive,  and  then  I  shall 
know  that  you  did  not." 

"You  ask  an  impossible  thing,  jPanayota. 
He  is  probably  among  the  Sphakiote  moun 
tains  by  this  time,  and  you  know  there  aren't 
troops  enough  in  all  Turkey  to  get  him  out." 

"Then  I'll  tell  you  what  you  do,"  cried  Pan- 
ayota  eagerly,  advancing  a  step  or  two.  "Let 
me  go  and  find  him.  I'll  return  here  to  Canea 
with  him.  Honestly  I  will,  honestly — and 
you  shall  come  and  talk  to  me  all  you  like." 

Kostakes  gave  his  mustache  an  impatient 
twist. 

"To  let  you  go,  after  all  the  trouble  I've 


244  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

had  getting  you?  O,  no,  Panayota.  You're 
mine,  by  Allah!  and  whoever  takes  you  away 
from  me  must  kill  me  first.  You  don't  know 
how  I  love  you,  I  could  never  tell  you.  Lis 
ten.  There  isn't  a  drop  of  Turkish  blood  in 
me.  My  grandfather  became  a  Turk  because 
— because  of  circumstances,  to  save  his  life. 
I  am  the  son  of  a  Greek  mother  and  she  used 
to  sing  Greek  lullabies  to  me  in  my  cradle." 
He  was  talking  very  fast  now.  "I  have  always 
said  I  would  turn  Christian  some  time,  and 
when  I  saw  you,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  do  it 
right  away.  I  have  heard  great  news.  Every 
body  says  that  the  powers  have  decided  to 
give  the  island  to  the  king  of  Greece.  Then 
there  will  be  no  more  Turks  here.  They  will 
either  go  away  or  become  Orthodox.  Say 
you'll  marry  me,  Panayota,  and  I'll  get  rid  of 
my  harem,  and  we'll  go  before  the  priest — " 
"Will  you  murder  your  wives  as  you  did  my 
father?"  asked  the  girl.  Kostakes  stared  at 
her,  deprived  for  the  moment  of  the  power  of 
speech.  In  his  enthusiasm,  he  had  talked  him 
self  into  the  feeling  that  his  dreams  were  al 
ready  realized.  Panayota's  voice,  hard,  sneer 
ing,  cold  with  hate,  shocked  him  like  a  sudden 
blow  in  the  face  with  a  whip.  Then  rage 
surged  up  in  his  veins  and  knocked  at  his 


AGAINST  THE  COMMON  ENEMY     245 

temples.  His  hands,  that  he  had  extended 
pleadingly,  trembled,  and  he  gnashed  his 
teeth.  Kostakes  was  not  beautiful  at  that  mo 
ment.  Panayota  laughed. 

"O,  you  Turk,"  she  cried,  "you  cowardly 
Turk!  You  needn't  grind  your  teeth  at  me. 
I'm  not  afraid  of  death.  It's  only  your  vile 
love  that  I  fear." 

Kostakes  raised  his  doubled  fists  above  his 
head  and  brought  them  down  with  such  vio 
lence  that  an  involuntary  "Ah!"  escaped  him. 

"By  God,  girl,  you  would  drive  a  saint 
crazy,"  he  cried.  "Here  I  am  offering  to 
change  my  religion  and  put  away  my  harem, 
and  all  for  you,  and  I  get  nothing  out  of  you 
but  an  insult.  Don't  you  know  that  you  are 
in  my  power,  and  I  can  do  with  you  what  I 
please?  No  cursed  foreigner  will  rescue  you 
this  time.  He  did  not  know  enough  to  keep 
you  when  he  had  you,  and  I'll  see  that  he 
doesn't  get  another  chance.  I  want  you  to 
love  me  as  I  love  you.  Panayota,  I've  made 
an  honorable  offer.  I  leave  you  to  think  it 
over.  But  make  up  your  mind  to  this — 
you're  mine,  and  I'll  never  give  you  up  while 
I  live." 

When  Kostakes  stepped  into  the  court 
again,  Souleima  was  blowing  up  the  coals  in 


246  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEK 

a  little  charcoal  stove,  home-made  from  an 
American  petroleum  can.  Ayesha,  standing 
by  the  table,  called  out  in  a  stage  whisper, 
plainly  audible  throughout  the  enclosure: 

"The  Effendi  conies,"  and  pulled  the  fish 
from  the  drawer. 

"Isn't  dinner  ready  yet?"  he  snarled;  "what 
have  you  lazy  women  been  doing?" 

"All  ready,  Effendi,"  replied  Ayesha.  "We 
couldn't  fry  the  barbounia  till  you  came.  They 
are  better  hot.  Souleima,  bring  the  olive  oil 
and  the  salt.  In  two  minutes,  Effendi." 

"Got  any  wine?"  asked  Kostakes,  as  the 
platter  of  steaming  fish  was  set  before  him. 

"Wine,  Effendi,  in  a  Turkish  house?" 

"Yes,  wine;  if  you've  got  any,  bring  it  on, 
I  am  tired  and  thirsty." 

"I  think  Ferende  has  some,"  suggested 
Souleima.  "She  drinks  like  a  fish." 

"Umph!  And  I  don't  suppose  you  help 
her?" 

"Effendi,  I  swear — "  commenced  Soule 
ima. 

"I  don't  even  know  the  taste  of  it,"  pro 
tested  Ayesha. 

"Silence,  silence!  and  bring  me  some.  And 
look  here,"  as  the  decanter  was  set  before 
him,  "if  I  ever  hear  a  lisp  about  my  wine 


AGAINST  THE  COMMON  ENEMY     247 

drinking  I'll  wring  the  necks  of  both  of  you — 
cackling  old  hens  that  you  are.  And  now  send 
Ferende  to  wait  on  me,  and  get  out  of  my 
sight,  the  two  of  you.  You  take  my  appetite 
away.  She  at  least  is  not  a  greasy  old  slat 
tern." 

After  the  Effendi  had  eaten  he  betook  him 
self  to  his  chamber  in  search  of  much  needed 
rest.  Ferende  followed  him,  but  he  pushed 
her  from  him,  saying  in  a  querulous  and  dis 
gusted  tone: 

"Get  away  from  me,  can't  you?  Darken 
the  room  and  go.  Shut  the  door,  and  if  any 
of  you  women  make  a  noise — eh,  there,  listen !" 

"Yes,  Effendi."  Ferende  had  nearly  closed 
the  door,  but  she  opened  it  a  little  way  and 
thrust  her  face  back  into  the  room. 

"Don't  take  Panayota  up  those  cold  fish. 
Fry  her  some  hot  ones,  and  give  her  some 


wine." 


The  ex-favorite  found  the  two  elder  wives 
whispering  together  in  the  garden. 

She  walked  straight  up  to  them. 

"Let's  be  friends,"  she  said.  "We're  all  in 
the  same  boat,  and  must  work  together.  In 
fact,  you  are  worse  off  than  I  am,  for  I  am 
younger  and  better  looking  than  either  of  you !" 

This  was  not  conciliatory  language,  but  it 


348  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

accorded  so  well  with  what  the  two  women 
had  just  been  saying  to  each  other,  that  they 
could  make  no  reply.  Each  looked  inquiringly 
at  the  other  for  a  moment,  and  then  Souleima 
asked: 

"Do  you  think  he  is  in  earnest?" 

"Absolutely.  He  would  have  no  reason  to 
parley  with  the  girl,  else.  She  is  in  his 
power." 

"We  shall  all  be  turned  into  the  street," 
said  Ayesha. 

"He  would  never  dare,"  cried  Souleima. 
"He  has  nothing  against  us.  We  are  faithful, 
honest  wives.  It  would  make  too  great  a 
scandal." 

"He  will  find  a  way,"  replied  Ferende, 
coolly. 

"What  shall  we  do?  O,  what  shall  we  do?" 
sobbed  the  two  elder  wives.  Poor  things! 
They  had  no  Virgin  to  take  refuge  with. 

"If  she  should  fall  ill  and  die!"  suggested 
Souleima. 

Ferende  started  violently  and  turned  pale. 
"No!"  she  cried,  so  loud  that  all  three  of  them 
glanced  apprehensively  at  the  windows.  Then 
lowering  her  voice: 

"Don't  ever  think  of  such  a  thing  again. 
It's  too  dangerous.  She  must  escape." 


AGAINST  THE  COMMON  ENEMY     249 

"But  the  Effendi  would  kill  us  even  for 
that." 

"It  must  be  done  in  such  a  way  that  he  will 
never  suspect  us. 


CHAPTER  XXX 
A  HERO  AND  A  SIX-INCH  SHELL 

64"\  T    7E  must  yust  take  our  chances," 

Y  Y  said  Lindbohm.  "How  far  is  it 
from  here  to  the  blockhouse?" 

Curtis  was  lying  on  his  stomach  behind  a 
rock,  with  his  rifle  beside  him. 

"About  sixty  or  seventy  rods,"  he  replied. 

"Rods?    What  is  a  rod?"  asked  Lindbohm. 

The  Yankee  laughed. 

"The  fort  is — let  me  see,  between  three 
hundred  and  four  hundred  yards  from  here." 

There  was  a  puff  of  smoke  from  a  window 
of  the  square,  gray  building,  followed  a  mo 
ment  later  by  a  distant  report,  and  the  hum 
ming  of  a  guitar  string  in  the  air  above  their 
heads.  Curtis  lay  down  again. 

"Damn  bad  shot,"  observed  his  companion. 
"Makes  me  sick  after  being  in  South  Africa. 
If  that  had  been  a  Boer  now,  he  would  have 
hit  you.  But  these  Turks  cannot  shoot.  So 
we  will  make  a  rush.  We  will  have  our  best 
shots  crawl  in  close  and  fire  on  the  doors  and 
windows.  Then  I  take  a  detachment  and  run 

250 


A  HERO  AND  A  SIX-INCH  SHETJ;    25 1 

in.  When  the  Turks  appear  we  drop  down, 
and  our  men  fire  another  volley.  Then  we 
yump  up  and  make  another  dash.  So  we 
take  it." 

The  blockhouse  was  a  little  above  them,  on 
a  rocky  eminence  that  commanded  the 
gleaming  sheet  of  Suda  Bay,  in  shape  like  a 
written  capital  V.  Four  warships,  two  Eng 
lishmen,  a  Frenchman  and  a  German,  lay  rest 
ing  at  anchor,  thin  columns  of  smoke  bending 
from  their  funnels  and  drifting  away  amicably 
together.  Something  over  a  mile  and  a  half 
away,  those  great  floating  engines  of  death 
and  terror  looked  as  innocent  as  a  toy  fleet 
on  a  duck  pond.  Entrenched  in  the  rocks  all 
about  Lindbohm  was  an  armed  band,  one 
hundred  and  fifty  in  number,  consisting  of 
Cretan  insurgents,  youthful  Italian  enthusi 
asts  and  Greek  Turcophobes.  Behind  them 
rose  the  tremendous  piles  of  Ida  and  the 
White  mountains,  and  below  them  lay  the 
bright,  smiling  valleys  of  the  coast  and  the 
lower  slopes,  where  an  occasional  white  vil 
lage  gleamed  among  its  olive  orchards. 

"How  many  are  there  of  'em?"  asked  Cur 
tis.  Lindbohm  smiled,  and  raising  his  big 
pink  hand  to  his  blonde  mustache,  gave  it  a 
playful  pull. 


252  LIKE  ANOTHER  HEJjEN 

"That's  yust  what  we're  going  to  find  out/* 
he  replied.  Calling  an  insurgent  to  him  who 
spoke  French,  he  explained  the  plan  for 
the  assault.  He  himself  selected  the  men 
who  were  to  accompany  him,  twenty- 
five  in  number,  and  such  as  possessed  bayo 
nets  proceeded  to  fix  them  to  their  rifles.  The 
places  from  which  the  shooting  was  to  be  done 
were  selected,  and  the  men  began  to  get  to 
them  as  rapidly  as  possible.  Lindbohm  and 
Curtis,  at  the  head  of  their  little  band,  worked 
down  toward  the  open  spot  across  which  the 
rush  must  be  made.  These  movements 
caused  more  or  less  exposure  and  drew  re 
peated  fusillades  from  the  blockhouse.  Most 
of  the  bullets  passed  over  the  heads  of  the  at 
tackers,  but  occasionally  one  slapped  against 
the  soft  face  of  a  rock,  or  scurried  through  the 
gravel.  One  glanced  near  Curtis'  head  and 
hummed  like  a  musical  top.  He  turned  and 
looked  curiously  in  the  direction  of  the  sound. 

"It  takes  yust  one  good,  big  battle  to  break 
a  man  of  that,"  observed  the  Lieutenant. 

"Of  what?" 

"Looking  after  the  bullets.  They  sing  all 
sorts  of  tunes,  and  sometimes  they  only  whis 
per,  but  they  always  say  the  same  thing — 
death,  death." 


A  HERO  AND  A  SIX-INCH  SHELL     253 

The  attacking  party  spread  out  into  a  line 
with  distances  of  ten  feet  or  more  between  the 
men.  Lindbohm  held  out  his  hand  to  Curtis. 

"Au  revoir,  my  friend/'  he  said,  fixing  his 
innocent  blue  eyes  upon  the  American.  "You 
better  stay  here.  This  is  a  little  dangerous, 
and  you  got  a  mother,  you  know." 

The  men  were  lying  upon  their  stomachs; 
Lindbohm's  left  elbow  rested  upon  the 
ground,  his  chin  supported  by  the  left  hand. 
As  he  spoke,  he  pushed  out  his  right  arm  to 
ward  Curtis  and  the  two  men  clasped  hands. 
The  American  was  thrilled  by  a  great  revela 
tion  of  affection  for  the  Swede — his  eyes  were 
so  childlike,  his  voice  so  tender,  and  his  smile 
so  sad  and  sweet;  he  had  lost  the  handkerchief 
that  had  been  tied  about  his  head,  and  his 
pompadour  had  fallen  down  in  spots,  like  a 
wheat  field  upon  which  fragments  of  wind 
have  dropped  here  and  there.  He  was  very 
much  in  earnest  now,  as  nervously  he  swept 
one  end  of  his  great  blonde  mustache  between 
his  teeth  with  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  and  in 
quired: 

"Eh?     Is  it  not  so?    We  must  remember 
the  little  mother." 

"Do  you  think  I'd  go  back  on  a  friend  in  a 
time    like    this?"    asked    Curtis    indignantly. 


254  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"But,  see  here,  Lindbohm,  since  you're  un 
easy  about  me,  you'll  find  my  address  in  my 
pocket.  If  anything  happens  to  me,  write  to 
my  folks.  And — and,  about  Panayota — " 

Lindbohm  dropped  the  hand  that  he  was 
holding,  and  the  color  faded  out  from  beneath 
the  dust  and  grime  upon  his  face. 

"About  Panayota?" 

"Tell  her  I  meant  what  I  said  to  her  that 
day,  every  word  of  it.  I — I — ,  she'll  under 
stand." 

Lindbohm  made  no  reply,  but  still  resting 
upon  his  left  elbow,  he  slid  his  face  down  into 
his  great  soft  hand,  and  remained  silent  for  so 
long  a  time  that  an  Italian  called  impatiently 
from  a  little  distance: 

"Parati,  signor!" 

Then  he  looked  up  suddenly  and  again 
seized  Curtis  by  the  hand. 

"You  are  not  going,"  he  said  sternly.  "I 
am  in  command  here,  and  I  order  you  to  stay 
back." 

Before  the  American  had  a  chance  to  reply 
half  a  dozen  guns  roared  from  a  covert  near 
by,  a  dozen  more  followed  as  rapidly  as  the 
sound  of  a  boy  trailing  a  stick  along  a  picket 
fence,  and  then  for  a  full  moment  the  firing 
continued  as  capriciously  as  the  explosions  of 


A  HERO  ANI>  A  SIX-INCH  SHELL.    255 

a  bunch  of  fire  crackers.  It  ceased,  and  Lind- 
bohm,  bending  low,  was  running  toward  the 
blockhouse.  He  had  not  got  more  than  ten 
yards  away  before  the  others  were  darting 
after  him. 

"O,  damn  his  orders!"  muttered  Curtis  and 
scrambling  to  his  feet,  he  ran  so  rapidly  for 
ward  that  he  passed  two  or  three  of  the  Ital 
ians,  and  had  nearly  reached  Lindbohm's  side 
when  he  heard  a  sound  as  though  the  man  be 
hind  him  had  stepped  on  a  bundle  of  dry 
twigs.  Turning,  he  saw  the  poor  fellow  lying 
upon  his  side,  bent  like  a  bow.1  He  was  clutch 
ing  the  calf  of  his  left  leg  with  both  hands  and 
grinning.  His  shin  had  been  shattered  by  a 
ball.  Somebody  fell  upon  Curtis  and  bore 
him  to  earth,  and  immediately  there  was  a 
crash  and  rattle  of  rifles  behind  and  all  around 
him.  The  man  at  his  side  took  deliberate  aim 
at  somebody  and  fired.  Curtis  followed  his 
example  and  shot  at  one  of  the  windows  of 
the  blockhouse.  There  was  a  lull  and  they 
dashed  forward  again.  Curtis  kept  his  eye  on 
Lindbohm  this  time,  and  pitched  forward 
upon  his  face  when  he  saw  the  Swede  do  like 
wise.  They  ran  but  a  short  distance  each 
time,  but  the  third  spurt  brought  them  half 
way  to  their  destination.  Lindbohm  now  kept 


256  ILIKE  ANOTHER  HEJLEN 

straight  on,  stopping  every  moment  to  aim 
and  fire.  The  others  followed  his  example 
and  they  were  able  thus  to  keep  advancing, 
and  none  the  less  to  maintain  a  fusillade 
against  the  doors  and  windows  of  the  Turkish 
stronghold.  They  were  still  ten  or  twelve  rods 
away,  when  a  white  flag  appeared  on  the  roof. 
Lindbohm  turned  and  motioned  to  his  com 
panions,  who  gathered  about  him.  They 
walked  fearlessly  through  the  open  door,  into 
the  front  room  of  a  square  stone  building.  A 
thin-faced,  gray-haired  officer  in  a  faded  fez, 
came  forward  to  meet  them.  Twenty  Turks 
in  ragged  uniforms  were  huddled  together  in 
a  corner.  The  place  was  dim  and  sulphurous 
with  smoke. 

"To  whom  have  I  the  honor  of  surrender 
ing?"  asked  the  Turkish  officer  in  French, 
unbuckling  his  sword. 

"To  me,  Monsieur,"  replied  Lindbohm, 
bringing  his  heels  together  with  a  "click,"  and 
saluting  with  great  dignity. 

"I  surrender  to  save  bloodshed,"  said  the 
Turk.  "I  see  that  you  are  not  a  Cretan  and  I 
therefore,  with  perfect  confidence,  turn  these 
men  over  to  you  as  prisoners  of  war." 

"They  shall  give  up  their  arms  and  suffer 


A  HERO  AND  A  SIX-INCH  SHET^L    257 

no  harm.    Monsieur  will  do  me  the  honor  of 
retaining  his  sword." 

The  remaining  Cretans  were  now  come  up 
and  many  of  them  had  crowded  into  the  room. 
Lindbohm  ordered  them  out  and  put  two 
stout  fellows  at  the  door. 

"Now,  Monsieur,  if  you  will  kindly  tell 
your  men  to  give  up  their  guns." 

The  officer  said  a  few  words  to  his  little 
band,  and  one  by   one,  as  a   sergeant  called 
their    names,     they     stepped     forward     and 
handed  their  weapons  to  Curtis,  who  passed 
them  to  a  man  outside  the  door.    The  last  gun 
had  scarcely  been  given  up  when  a  sudden  com 
motion  broke  out  among  the  Cretans  and  half 
a  dozen  burly  insurgents,  forcing  their  way 
past  the  guard,    burst  into    the  room.     The 
commotion  now  swelled  to  a  hoarse  uproar, 
and  Curtis  caught  the  words,  "Kill!  kill!"  and 
"No!  no!"       Lindbohm  did  not  realize  the 
gravity  of  the  situation.     He  was  raging  be 
cause    his  orders  had  been  disobeyed,   and 
thought  that  the  whole  band,   actuated  by 
curiosity,  were  about  to  swarm  in.    He  there 
fore  leaped  to  the  door  with  leveled  bayonet, 
and  threatened  the  crowd  so  fiercely  that  they 
all   shrank  back.     Meanwhile   a  thing  hap 
pened  that  fairly  froze   Curtis  with  horror. 


25S  IJDO:  AKOTHEH  HXIJEK 

The  half  dozen  insurgents  raised  their  guns 
to  their  shoulders  and  deliberately  pointed 
them  at  the  body  of  unarmed  Turks,  who, 
seized  with  panic,  assumed  all  the  attitudes  of 
fear.  Some  crouched  against  the  wall,  as 
though  they  would  shrink  through  it;  some 
fell  upon  the  earthen  floor;  others  squatted 
and  doubled  their  arms  in  front  of  their  faces. 
Several  tried  to  seize  their  companions  and  hold 
them  before  their  own  bodies. 

A  dreadful  laugh,  mingled  with  foul  and  in 
sulting  words,  broke  from  the  insurgents' 
throats.  The  Turkish  officer  stepped  quietly 
in  front  of  his  men,  and,  crossing  his  arms 
over  his  chest,  regarded  the  Cretans  with  a 
look  of  high  scorn.  His  thin  face  and  gray 
beard  added  sublimity  to  the  dauntless  soul 
that  spoke  in  his  attitude.  He  had  the  beak 
and  eyes  of  an  eagle. 

Curtis  was  completely  carried  away  with 
revulsion  and  horror.  The  words,  "In  the 
name  of  God!  In  the  name  of  God!"  beat  in 
his  brain  with  the  regular  strokes  of  a  trip 
hammer,  and  he  fancied  that  he  heard  some 
one  shouting  them.  An  insurgent  threatened 
him  with  a  bayonet  and  another,  with  an 
outburst  of  expostulation,  seized  the  threat- 
ener's  gun.  Then  a  third  Cretan  leaped  upon 


A  HERO  AND  A  SIX-INCH  SHELL     259 

him,  and  attempted  to  push  him  to  one  side 
of  the  room.  Curtis,  now  completely  crazed 
with  rage,  dropped  the  gun  which  he  was  un 
able  to  use  at  such  close  quarters,  and  snarl 
ing  an  oath,  exclaimed,  "I'll  choke  the  life  out 
of  you !"  as  he  danced  with  hooked  hands  at 
his  adversary's  throat.  Strong  as  a  gorilla,  he 
had  nothing  to  fear.  He  dodged  between  the 
sinewy  arms  of  his  opponent,  and,  arching  his 
back  against  the  python  embrace  which  now 
tightened  upon  him,  felt  for  the  Cretan's  throat, 
when — there  was  a  great  crunching  and  trem 
bling  sound,  and  in  the  air,  that  had  suddenly 
turned  milky  and  pungent,  Cretans  and  Turks 
were  leaping  like  imps.  Curtis  stood  for  a 
moment  in  stupid  wonder,  his  mouth  open, 
his  hands  still  convulsively  twitching.  He 
was  gazing  at  a  great  heap  of  debris  and  a 
triangle  of  wall  with  one  ragged  side.  Men 
were  scrambling  over  the  rubbish,  working 
their  arms  as  though  they  were  trying  to  fly. 
Something  like  an  electric  shock — it  was  fear 
• — smote  the  American,  and  his  stomach 
swooped  as  when  one  goes  down  in  a  swing. 
He  leaped  among  the  fleeing  crowd  and  gained 
the  open.  Without  looking  to  see  where  he  was 
going,  he  struck  out  instinctively  for  the  hills. 
Once  or  twice  he  fell  down,  but  was  on  his 


260  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

feet  again  in  an  instant.  As  he  ran,  his  fear 
grew.  Some  one  shouted  to  him  in  a  familiar 
voice,  but  he  did  not  stop.  Lindbohm  seized 
him  firmly  by  the  arm  and  held  him.  Curtis 
struggled  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  felt 
weak.  He  could  run  no  farther.  He  tried 
to  speak  several  times,  but  was  entirely  out 
of  breath.  At  last  he  managed  to  gasp: 

"What?     What?     What?" 

The  Swede  was  standing  on  a  little  emi 
nence,  with  one  hand  in  his  pocket ;  hair,  face 
and  clothing  were  dusted  miller-white  with 
powdered  lime.  He  was  gazing  toward  the 
sea,  and  there  was  the  ghost  of  a  smile  in  his 
childlike  blue  eyes. 

"Six-inch  shell,"  he  replied.  Curtis  looked. 
There  was  a  spurt  of  flame  from  one  of  the 
toy  ships  in  the  duck  pond,  followed  by  a 
muffled  detonation,  and  a  sound  such  as  the 
wind  sometimes  makes  at  sea.  An  explosion 
threw  up  a  great  cloud  of  dust  about  thirty 
yards  beyond  the  blockhouse — or  what  re 
mained  of  it. 

"French!"  said  Lindbohm. 

Another  flash,  again  the  sound  of  the  wind, 
again  the  explosion — this  time  about  twenty 
yards  short. 


A  HERO  AND  A  SIX-INCH  SHEIiIi    261 

"German,  I  think.  They  lowered  too  much, 
because  the  others  fired  high." 

The  third  shell  from  yet  another  ship 
clipped  away  the  white  flag  that  was  still 
standing  on  the  corner  of  the  building. 

"English!  That's  great  work!"  Lind- 
bohm's  interest  was  entirely  professional  and 
impersonal. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
A   GRATEFUL  MAJOR 

MEN,  still  running,  were  disappearing 
into  the  distant  hills.  The  Swede  and 
the  American  were  entirely  alone. 
The  toy  ships  continued  to  launch  their  poly- 
phemian  missiles. 

"Are  they  firing  at  us?"  gasped  Curtis. 

"Yudging  from  appearances,  I  should  say 
they  were,"  replied  his  companion. 

Four  Cretans  had  turned  back  and  were 
running  toward  the  ruined  blockhouse.  One 
was  the  color  bearer  of  Lindbohm's  company, 
and  he  was  carrying  the  Greek  flag.  Straight 
up  to  the  house  he  ran,  and,  handing  the 
standard  to  one  of  his  companions,  he  climbed 
upon  the  wall.  As  he  stood  there  a  shell 
dropped  so  near  that  he  was  for  a  moment 
obscured  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  When  the  air 
became  again  clear  he  was  jamming  the  flag 
pole  into  the  soft  mortar.  Then  he  jumped 
down  and  ran  away,  together  with  his  com 
rades.  Another  shell  exploded  thirty  feet 
from  the  four  Cretans,  and  only  three  ran  on. 

"What  killed  him?"  asked  Curtis. 

"A  flying  piece  of  rock,  probably,"  replied 

262 


A  GRATEFUL  MAJOR  263 

Lindbohm.  "When  it  is  raining  six-inch 
shells  a  man  must  yust  take  his  chances." 

The  bombardment  did  not  last  much 
longer.  The  Greek  flag  was  also  brought 
down  by  a  shot  which  elicited  unbounded  ad 
miration  from  the  Swede,  a  shell  striking  the 
corner  of  the  house  where  it  was  planted. 

Curtis  realized  now  for  the  first  time  the 
peculiar  sensations  of  a  soldier  of  fortune.  He 
had  been  risking  his  life  for  that  flag,  yet  he 
saw  it  fired  upon  without  the  thrill  of  horror 
and  rage  which  would  have  surged  through 
his  heart  had  it  been  the  American  emblem. 

"They  are  shooting  at  the  flag!"  he  ex 
claimed,  noticing  that  the  ships  in  the  bay  had 
become  silent. 

"Yust  so,"  observed  Lindbohm;  "and  that 
is  why  they  commenced  in  the  first  place. 
They  mistook  the  Turkish  officer's  shirt  for 
the  Greek  flag.  But  here  he  comes  now." 

Hassan  Bey  was  powdered  as  white  as  a 
great  moth.  He  advanced  with  a  sprightly 
step,  the  scabbard  of  his  sword  jingling 
among  the  cobblestones.  Greeting  Lind 
bohm  respectfully  with  a  military  salute,  he 
turned  to  Curtis  and  bowed  low,  his  hand 
upon  his  heart.  He  spoke  as  one  who  had 
hastily  prepared  an  address. 


264  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"Monsieur,  in  my  own  behalf  and  in  that 
of  my  little  band,  I  thank  you  for  saving  our 
lives.  Your  heroism  and  magnanimity  do 
credit  to  the  nation  which  you  represent.  I 
beg  of  you  to  accept  this  sword  as  a  pledge 
of  my  undying  gratitude."  And  he  grasped 
with  both  hands  his  curved  simitar  in  its 
richly  mounted  case  and  held  it  impulsively 
toward  the  American,  who  looked  amazedly 
at  Lindbohm. 

"Better  take  it,"  said  the  latter.  "Need 
lessly  offend  a  brave  man  if  you  don't." 

"But  what  for?  Why  the  deuce  should  he 
give  me  his  sword?" 

"Very  graceful  act,  seeing  you  yumped  in 
front  of  the  Cretan  guns  and  saved  his  life." 

"Did  I  do  that?  I  don't  remember  any 
thing  about  it." 

"Better  take  it,"  repeated  Lindbohm.  "He 
is  beginning  to  feel  embarrassed." 

Curtis  accepted  the  simitar,  but  could  not 
find  appropriate  words.  The  occasion  seemed 
to  demand  a  set  speech. 

"Merci!  Merci!"  he  stammered.  "My 
father  will  be  glad  to  get  this.  He  is  fond  of 
this  sort  of  thing.  He  already  has  a  pair  of 
pistols  and  an  old  Turkish  gun." 

And  he  fell  to  examining  the  hilt,  which 


A  GRATEFUL  MAJOR  265 

was  embossed  with  silver,  and  the  scabbard, 
adorned  with  flowers  and  various  animals. 
An  awkward  silence  ensued,  broken  at 
last  by  Hassan  Bey,  who  addressed  himself 
to  Lindbohm: 

"And  now,  if  Monsieur  does  not  consider 
me  a  prisoner  of  war,  I  will  take  my  leave." 

Again  saluting  Lindbohm  and  salaaming  to 
Curtis,  he  turned  and  walked  away. 

"What'll  we  do  now?"  asked  Curtis.  "Get 
the  band  together  again?" 

"To  hell  with  the  band!"  exploded  Lind 
bohm.  "I'm  sick  of  them.  They  fight  all 
right,  but  there's  no  way  to  enforce  discipline. 
I  think  I'll  go  to  America.  There  should  be 
some  beautiful  fighting  between  the  Amer 
icans  and  Spaniards,"  and  he  looked  dreamily 
across  the  sea. 

"We  weren't  fighting  Kostakes,  after  all," 
mused  Curtis. 

Lindbohm  came  to  earth  with  a  start  and 
glanced  sharply  after  the  slender,  erect  figure 
of  the  departing  Turk,  whose  body  was  now 
cut  off  below  the  arms  by  a  ledge  of  rock. 

"Monsieur!"  shouted  the  Swede,  and 
started  in  pursuit.  The  Turk  turned  slowly 
and  waited. 

"Monsieur   will    pardon    me,"    said    Lind- 


266  JjIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

bohm,  when  he  had  overtaken  Hassan  Bey. 
"I  wish  to  ask  a  question  on  behalf  of  my 
friend  here,  which  you  will  use  your  own  dis 
cretion  in  answering." 

Hassan  bowed  gravely. 

"My  friend  is  interested  in  a  young  Cretan 
girl,  Panayota  Nicolaides,  whom  Kostakes 
Effendi  has  abducted.  We  have  been  follow 
ing  Kostakes,  but  he  has  disappeared.  Do 
you  know  anything  of  him  or  the  girl?" 

"I  know  it  all.  He  and  the  Bashi  Bazouks 
passed  by  here  with  the  girl,  who  is  now 
locked  up  in  Kostakes'  harem  at  C'anea.  He 
has  gone  wild  over  her.  That  is  why  he  was 
not  here  to-day  with  his  band  to  support  the 
blockhouse  as  he  promised.  He  cannot  be 
depended  on.  He  passes  half  his  time  laying 
siege  to  the  affections  of  a  girl  who  is  already 
in  his  power.  Bah!  Kostakes  is  no  good. 
He  is  only  half  a  man1 — he  is  half  Greek." 

Hassan  had  grown  suddenly  voluble.  Kos 
takes,  with  his  incomprehensible  doings,  was 
evidently  a  thorn  in  his  flesh.  Rage,  indig 
nation,  pity,  swooped  down  upon  Curtis  like 
a  flood,  now  hot,  now  cold,  as  he  thought  of 
Panayota,  restrained  in  the  house  of  that 
square-jawed,  cruel,  supercilious  Turk,  sub 
ject  to  his  vile  solicitations. 


A  GRATEFUL  MAJOR  267 

"You  do  not  think  he  would  dare  to  do  her 
violence?"  he  cried,  as  the  thought  that  he 
knew  where  Panayota  was  and  might  yet  save 
her,  seemed  almost  to  lift  him  from  the 
ground. 

"And  why  not?"  demanded  Hassan.  "But, 
bah!  It  is  the  Christian  blood  in  him,  I  tell 
you.  He  wants  her  to  love  him — bah !" 

Curtis'  face  was  flushed  and  he  was  trem 
bling  with  eagerness.  Lindbohm,  pale  as 
death,  was  leaning  against  a  rock,  biting  his 
lip.  A  bugle  sang  out  sweet  and  clear,  in  the 
distance. 

"It  is  the  Cretan  trumpeter,"  remarked  the 
Turk.  "So,  once  more  au  revoir,  and  a  thou 
sand,  thousand  thanks." 

"I  am  done  with  the  troop,"  said  Lind 
bohm.  "I  cannot  control  them,  and  I  am  a 
soldier.  I  will  not  fight  where  discipline  is 
impossible.  My  friend  and  I  wish  to  go  to 
Canea.  We — we — desire  to  take  ship  and 
leave  the  island." 

"Then,  come  with  me,"  cried  Hassan  gai 
ly.  "I  will  pass  you  through  the  lines,  and  I 
may  be  able  in  some  way  to  prove  my  grati 
tude  to  this  gentleman  who  has  saved  my  life. 
Voila,  we  are  comrades!"  and,  stepping  be- 


268  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

tween  Curtis  and  Lindbohm,  he  grasped  each 
by  the  arm.    Again  the  bugle  sounded. 

"They  can  fight,"  mused  the  Swede  sadly, 
stooping  and  looking  back  over  his  shoulder, 
"but  no  discipline,  no  discipline!  Allans, 
Monsieur !" 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A   VIOLENT   WOOER 

KOSTAKES  had  something  of  impor 
tance  to  say  to  Panayota — something 
unpleasant,  to  judge  from  his  per 
turbed  appearance.  The  door  to  her  room 
failed  to  open  at  the  first  turning  of  the  key; 
the  lock  was  old  and  worn  and  the  bolt  did 
not  always  respond.  But  Kostakes  did  not 
calmly  try  again.  He  threw  his  weight  pet 
tishly  against  the  unyielding  barrier  and 
kicked  noisily  at  the  panels.  Having  thus 
given  vent  in  a  slight  degree  to  his  boil 
ing  passion,  he  again  tried  the  key,  swear 
ing  to  himself  meanwhile  '  in  Greek' — that 
language  being  in  every  way  more  satisfac 
tory  than  Turkish  in  a  crisis  demanding 
profanity.  Almost  falling  into  the  room,  he 
brought  himself  up  with  a  jerk  and  stood  glar 
ing  at  the  unhappy  girl.  To  Panayota,  who 
had  always  seen  him  hitherto  in  a  gentle  and 
persuasive  mood,  he  was  as  a  man  who 
had  put  off  a  mask.  Somehow  he  did  not 
frighten  her,  for  his  looks  now  corresponded 
with  her  idea  of  his  real  character;  that  scowl- 

269 


270  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

ing  brow,  those  glaring  eyes,  that  protruding 
under  jaw  trembling  with  rage,  well  befitted 
the  murderer  of  her  father  and  the  despoiler 
of  her  home.  If  Kostakes  should  come 
into  her  room  some  time  when  he  was 
drunk!  But  now  he  was  only  angry,  seem 
ingly  speechless  with  rage.  She  had  been 
peering  through  the  grating  of  her  window 
watching  a  rat  that  was  running  to  and  fro 
in  the  sunless  court  below;  he  was  so  fat  and 
his  legs  were  so  short  that  he  seemed  to  be 
sliding  over  the  pavement  like  a  toy  mouse. 
When  she  first  heard  Kostakes'  key  in  the  lock 
she  grasped  the  iron  bars  to  keep  herself  from 
falling  and,  leaning  against  the  wall,  stood 
looking  at  the  door.  And  thus  she  stood  now, 
a  smile  of  scorn  faintly  curling  her  pale  lip. 
Kostakes  strode  across  the  room  and,  seiz 
ing  her  wrist  wrenched  her  hand  loose  from 
the  iron  bar. 

"You  won't  marry  me,  eh?"  he  said.  "I'm 
not  good  enough  for  you,  eh?  I  suppose  I'm 
old  or  ugly  or  you  prefer  somebody  else?  Is 
that  it,  eh?  Well,  now  I'm  going  to  tame 
you.  You  wouldn't  have  me  as  a  Christian, 
you  shall  have  me  as  a  Turk.  There  aren't 
going  to  be  any  more  Christians,  do  you  hear? 
Eh?  Do  you  hear?  We're  going  to  kill  the 


A  VIOLENT  WOOER  271 

whole  cursed  brood  of  them,  English,  French, 
Italians,  Cretans!  There  won't  be  one  left. 
Islam  is  aroused.  We'll  cut  their  throats — " 
he  shouted,  flinging  her  wrist  from  him,  and 
making  an  imaginary  slash  at  his  own  neck. 
"The  streets  will  run  blood.  Every  dog  of  an 
unbeliever  in  Crete  must  die,  men,  women 
and  children — except  you." 

The  blood  of  the  Turkish  father  had  pre 
vailed,  and  Kostakes  was  overwhelmed  with 
that  form  of  religious  mania  which  cries 
for  blood.  He  had  joined  a  band  of  young 
Turks,  who  had  planned  a  grand  coup,  to  save 
Crete,  and  his  Christian  love  for  Panayota  was 
fast  turning  into  Turkish  love.  It  needed  but 
a  riot  of  blood  and  rapine  to  make  the  change 
complete. 

"You  would  not  have  me  as  a  Christian," 
he  repeated,  with  his  hand  on  the  door  knob; 
"then  you  shall  take  me  as  a  Turk,"  and  he 
went  out. 

Panayota,  being  left  alone  again,  was  fright 
ened,  and  it  is  proof  of  the  girl's  nobility  of 
soul  that  she  thought  not  of  herself,  but  of  her 
fellow  Christians,  whom  she  believed  to  be  in 
imminent  danger.  If  she  could  only  escape 
and  give  them  warning!  But  she  dismissed 
that  thought,  for  she  had  tried  every  possible 


2?2  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

means  again  and  again.     She  might  stand  at 
the  window  and  scream,  but  she  had  already 
done  that,  with  no  effect.     Kostakes'  house 
was  right  in  the  center  of  the  Turkish  quarter, 
and  the  screams  of  an  hysterical  or  angry 
woman  attracted  little  attention.  A  girl  shout 
ing  in   Greek   for  help  was  a   time-honored 
legend    of    Turkish    rule;    as    old    as    Islam 
and   as   natural   as   murder.     So,    as   a   last 
resort,    she    fell    upon    her    knees    and    be 
sought  the  Virgin  to  help  and  save  the  people, 
to  pity  the  mothers  and  the  little  children  and 
to  turn  away  from  them  this  danger.     Now, 
while  she  was  praying,  a  conflict  had  been  tak 
ing  place  within  the  breast  of  Kostakes,  of 
which  he  felt  the  effects,  but  of  which  he  was 
entirely  unconscious.    The  blood  of  his  Greek 
mother  had  been  making  a  last  stand  against 
that  of  his  Mohammedan  father,  and  while  he 
was  even  yet  breathing  out  curses  against  the 
Christians  and  muttering,  "She  shall  have  me 
as  a  Turk,"  he  turned  about  automatically,  as 
it  were,  and  retraced  his  steps  to  Panayota's 
room.    The  girl  rose  from  her  knees. 

"I  am  praying  the  Holy  Virgin  to  save  my 
people,"  she  said  in  a  solemn  tone.  Her  eyes 
were  streaming  with  tears.  Kostakes  shud 
dered,  and  involuntarily  raised  his  arm,  re- 


A  VIOLENT  WOOER  273 

straining  himself  with  difficulty  from  making 
the  sign  of  the  cross.  This  Virgin  of  his 
mother  could  be  a  very  terrible  being  when 
angry. 

"Panayota,"  he  said,  "I — I— was  too  rough 
with  you  just  now.  But  you  are  very  obsti 
nate.  Listen,  I  tell  you  the  truth.  The  young 
Turks  have  planned  a  grand  coup,  and  I  have 
joined  them.  But  I  would  do  anything  for 
you  if  you  would  only  let  me.  Say  that  you 
will  marry  me,  and  I  will  give  the  foreign 
officers  warning,  and  the  Christians  will  be 
saved.  I  will  then  turn  Christian— O,  Pana 
yota,  won't  you  marry  me?" 

But  the  Virgin  had  comforted  Panayota  and 
given  her  courage.  She  pointed  superbly  to 
the  door. 

"Go,"  she  cried,  "God  will  save  His  people 
without  that  sacrifice." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
THE   INNOCENT   ONLOOKER 

T/r  OSTAKES  went  to  the  bazaar  of  his 
friend  Mehemet  Effendi.  Mehemet 
was  about  of  an  age  with  the  Captain, 
and  had  attended  school  with  him.  He  was 
young  and  handsome,  with  red  cheeks,  thin, 
large  nose,  and  thick  lips.  He  affected  Euro 
pean  costume,  but,  being  a  full-blooded 
Turk,  was  a  sincere  worshiper  of  the  prophet, 
and  an  enthusiastic  member  of  that  society 
of  youths  who  believed  that  Islam  was  about 
to  be  rejuvenated  and  purified,  after  which 
it  would  rise  and  overwhelm  the  unbeliever 
in  a  series  of  victories  greater  than  when  it 
swept  Asia  and  the  isles  of  the  sea  with  the 
besom  of  fanaticism  and  carried  its  one  star 
to  the  gates  of  Vienna.  Mehemet's  partner 
was  a  black-bearded,  pale-faced  Persian,  forty 
years  of  age,  who  wore  a  blue  vest,  blue 
trousers  that  were  full  about  the  hips  and 
tight  at  the  ankles,  carpet  slippers  and  a  red 
fez.  Hassan  Ben  Sabbath  was  a  Mohamme 
dan  by  profession,  but  his  belief  was  colored 
and  weakened  by  the  secret  influence  of  an 

274 


THE  INNOCENT  ONiLOOKER        275 

ancient  religion.  His  soul  was  haunted  by 
the  unrecognizable  ghosts  of  the  dead  gods  of 
Mardonis  and  Masistius.  He  was  prudent  in 
business  and  mildly  deprecatory  in  speech. 
The  bazaar  into  which  Kostakes  now  walked 
was  a  tiny  room,  fronting  upon  the  kaleido 
scopic  square.  The  greater  portion  of  its 
stock  was  piled  in  the  capacious  windows, — 
brass  candlesticks,  Cretan  knives  and  re 
volvers,  Byzantine  silver  jewelry,  antique 
earthenware,  Turkish  and  Persian  embroi 
deries.  The  only  furniture  consisted  of  a 
round-topped  wooden  table,  inlaid  with 
mother-of-pearl,  that  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor;  a  divan  and  two  chairs.  Side 
by  side  upon  the  wall,  in  cheap  frames,  hung 
the  sad,  cruel,  blase  faces  of  Abdul  Hamid  and 
the  latest  successor  of  Xerxes. 

Mehemet  was  standing  under  his  awning 
watching  the  shifting  throng,  and  occasion 
ally  casting  expectant  glances  at  the  bay.  His 
eyes  were  bright  and  his  face  was  pale  from 
nervousness. 

"Any  news,  Kosta?  Any  news?"  he  de 
manded  in  a  cautious  tone.  Kostakes  made 
no  reply,  but  flinging  himself  into  one  of  the 
chairs,  began  to  beat  a  lively  tattoo  with  his 
riding  whip  on  the  top  of  his  boot.  Ben  Sab- 


276  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

bath,  who  had  been  pretending  to  sleep  on 
the  divan,  rose  to  a  sitting  position  and 
yawned. 

"Don't  betray  your  feelings  so,"  said  Me- 
hemet;  "the  hour  when  the  faithful  shall 
triumph  is  almost  at  hand.  Be  patient." 

"I'm  sick  of  the  whole  cursed  spawning  of 
Christians,"  cried  Kostakes,  making  the  whip 
crack  on  his  boot  top  like  a  pistol  shot.  "I 
want  to  see  the  throats  of  the  last  one  of  them 
slit.  I—" 

"Now,  Kosta,  Kosta,  in  the  name  of  Allah," 
protested  Ben  Sabbath,  springing  to  the  door 
and  looking  to  right  and  left. 

JVIehemet  patted  the  excited  man  on  the 
shoulder  soothingly. 

"He  cannot  help  it,"  he  explained.  "It  is 
Islam  rising.  Patience,  Kosta,  but  a  little 
longer,  and  you  shall  have  your  fill  of  slitting. 
We  shall  spare  no  one,  eh?  No  Christian  dogs 
to  breed  more  litters  of  Christians;  no  babes 
to  grow  up  into  Christians!" 

"Merciful  Allah!  If  you  should  be  heard!" 
whispered  Ben  Sabbath  in  an  ague  of  fear. 

"You  can't  make  anything  out  of  a  Chris 
tian,  try  how  you  will,"  continued  Kostakes. 
"They  don't  appreciate  kindness.  Now,  take 
that  girl  of  mine,  Panayota — " 


THE  INNOCENT  ONLOOKER         i  , , 

"You  are  not  trifling  with  her  yet?" 

"I  have  treated  her  with  the  greatest  kind 
ness,  I  have  humbled  myself  to  her,  but  she 
despises  me,  she  abhors  me — me!" 

And  rising  to  his  full  height  he  smote  his 
expanded  chest. 

"Never  mind,  never  mind,"  said  Mehemet. 

"I've  offered  to  make  her  the  head  of  my 
harem,  to — to — do  everything  in  fact,  but  still 
she  is  obstinate.  O,  I  am  through  with  kind 
ness  now.  This  is  a  fine  state  of  society  when 
it  is  possible  for  a  Christian  hussy  to  despise 
a  Turkish  gentleman  and  an  officer  to  boot!" 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  some  of  Me- 
hemet's  Christian  neighbors  would  have 
heard  Kostakes'  raving  from  afar,  and  would 
have  stolen  near.  At  the  present  moment, 
however,  the  entire  population  of  the  square 
was  surging  down  to  the  water's  edge  watch 
ing  an  English  ship  that  was  rapidly  and 
noiselessly  sliding  into  the  harbor.  Evidently 
it  had  been  expected,  and  its  mission  on  this 
occasion  was  supposedly  favorable  to  the 
Christians,  for  they  were  noisily  jubilant  and 
addressed  many  facetious  but  insulting  re 
marks  to  their  Mohammedan  neighbors.  The 
latter  remained  silent  and  gazed  with  scowling 
brows  at  the  approaching  vessel. 


278  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"Here  it  comes!"  cried  Ben  Sabbath  from 
the  door,  as  the  masts  and  funnels  of  the 
"Hazard"  suddenly  drifted  into  the  back 
ground,  above  the  heads  of  the  throng.  Me- 
hemet  grabbed  Kostakes  by  the  arm  and 
dragged  him  to  the  door. 

"See  there!"  he  cried,  forgetting  all  re 
straint.  "There  comes  the  disgrace  of  Islam, 
my  brother* — they  have  come  to  enslave  us. 
Those  English  are  Christians,  and  they  hate 
us.  But  your  time  has  come,  dogs,  your  time 
has  come!"  and  he  shook  his  fist  toward  the 
ship. 

"But  in  the  name  of  Allah!"  expostulated 
Ben  Sabbath.  "These  English  are  our  best 
customers.  Only  yesterday  I  sold  a  piece  of 
Rhodes  embroidery  to  an  English  lieutenant 
for  four  times  its  value.  And  we  can't  fight 
the  English;  they  take  the  most  terrible  re 
venge.  Look  at — " 

"Bah!  Look  at  nothing!  Look  at  our 
most  glorious  Sultan,  the  light  of  the  world 
and  the  defender  of  the  faith.  Has  he  not 
been  keeping  all  Europe  at  bay  for  the  last  ten 
years?  There  is  no  God  but  God,  and  .Mo 
hammed  is  his  prophet!" 

"We  must  not  interfere  with  the  English, 


THE  INNOCENT  ONLOOKER         279 

I  tell  you,"  protested  Ben  Sabbath,  in  great 
alarm. 

"A  Christian  is  a  Christian — all  dogs — froth 
of  the  spittle  of  dogs.  Kostakes,  they  have 
come  to  install  the  new  Christian  officials  and 
to  collect  the  tax.  The  money  of  the  faithful 
goes  into  Christian  hands.  Your  old  enemy, 
Platonides,  is  to  be  made  deputy  collector. 
How  do  you  like  that?" 

"Curse  his  Virgin!"  growled  Kostakes, 
again  resorting  to  Greek.  "But  he  won't  live 
long  to  enjoy  it.  I'll  see  to  that — despise 
me!" 

"Now  you're  talking  sensibly,"  interposed 
Ben  Sabbath,  admiringly.  "There's  a  way 
and  a  time  to  do  all  things,  of  course.  But  to 
oppose  the  English  by  force-r— it's  the  veriest 
madness." 

The  metallic  burr  of  the  chain,  paying  out 
rapidly  as  the  "Hazard's"  anchor  plunged, 
came  to  their  ears  with  startling  distinctness. 
Mehemet  groaned. 

"Our  slavery  dates  from  this  moment,  un 
less  we  nip  this  tyranny  in  the  bud,  unless  we 
strike  a  terrible  blow.  They  will  be  coming 
into  our  houses  next  and  taking  our  Christian 
wives  away  from  us." 

"Not  into  mine  while  I  have  two  hundred 


280        MKE  ANOTHER  HEI/EN 

Bashi  Bazouks  at  my  back!"  cried  Kostakes. 
"Curse  the  Christians!" 

"Have  they  not  given  them  the  privilege 
of  trading  in  the  town?  Have  they  not  denied 
to  Mohammedans  the  right  to  go  out  and  visit 
their  farms  and  gardens?  You  will  see  what 
their  next  move  will  be." 

The  sharp,  clear  tones  of  an  English  officer 
could  be  heard,  and  the  rattle  of  oars  as  they 
were  unshipped  and  boated  by  the  crew  of  a 
man-of-war's  boat.  The  crowd  at  the  wharf 
surged  back  with  groans  and  cheers.  But  the 
wharf  was  not  destined  to  be  the  chief  center 
of  attraction.  The  scrannel  drone  of  a  bag 
pipe  sounded  faintly  in  the  distance,  and  grew 
rapidly  more  distinct,  a  waving  thread  of 
sound  that  led  the  measured  tread  of  many 
feet,  marching  to  quickstep,  out  of  the  silence 
and  nearer,  nearer.  The  three  Mohammedans 
fixed  their  eyes  upon  the  opening  of  a  street 
that  gave,  not  far  away,  into  the  square. 
The  bagpipe  turned  the  corner,  and  its  defiant 
wail  came  straight  to  their  ears.  The  throng 
at  the  wharf  turned  and  looked,  then  turned 
back  again,  like  the  distracted  spectator  at  a 
modern  circus,  where  the  prodigality  of  at 
tractions  prevents  the  enjoyment  of  any.  But 
they  were  not  long  in  doubt  as  to  the  principal 


THE  INNOCENT  ONLOOKER          28 1 

attraction,  for  the  street  ejected  from  its 
mouth  at  that  moment  the  most  devil-may- 
care,  picturesque,  obstreperous,  robust,  busi 
ness-like  compound  of  wailing  wind  and  true 
courage  on  earth. — a  Scotch  bagpiper.  Tamas 
Macmillan  flung  across  the  square,  looking 
neither  to  right  nor  left.  His  hair  was  red, 
and  his  face  flamed  in  the  tropic  sun.  Every 
time  that  he  puffed  his  cheeks  full  his  head 
shook  with  the  effort,  and  the  streamers  of 
his  Scotch  cap  leaped  on  the  breeze.  He  was 
a  tall,  gaunt,  awkward  Scot,  whose  projecting 
kneecaps  played  in  front  of  the  sinewy  knees 
like  round  shields.  On  he  fared,  with  chest 
thrust  out  and  face  thrust  up,  squeezing  the 
bag  beneath  his  brawny  arm^  and  letting  out 
its  protesting  squeals  in  the  notes  of  "Bonnie 
Prince  Charlie."  Behind  him  at  a  distance 
came  a  small  body  of  Seaforth  Highlanders 
and  a  few  bluejackets,  bound  straight  for  the 
custom  house.  The  throng  scrambled  out  of 
the  way  to  right  and  left,  as  though  from  a 
bayonet  charge.  In  fact,  the  natives  did  not 
wait  for  the  troops,  but  melted  away  before 
the  flaming  countenance  of  Tamas  Mac 
millan. 

One  of  Kostakes'  Bashi  Bazouks,  a  great, 
splendid  fellow,  with  a  blue  and  yellow  turban 


282  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

about  his  head  and  a  gaudy  sash  about  his 
waist,  appeared  beneath  Mehemet's  awning 
and  salaamed. 

"Your  men  are  going  up  to  the  custom 
house,"  he  said. 

Kostakes  was  fretting  to  and  fro  in  the  shop 
like  a  big  lion  in  a  small  cage,  gnawing  his 
upper  lip,  twitching  at  his  mustache.  Every 
moment  his  passion  grew,  and  the  snorts  of 
indignation  became  more  and  more  frequent. 

"Doesn't  want  me,  eh?  What  does  she 
want?  Wouldn't  have  me  on  any  terms? 
Ha,  ha!  We'll  see  about  that!" 

"Effendi,"  said  the  man,  in  a  louder  voice. 

The  Captain  whirled  about  with  a  jerk  and 
glared  at  the  speaker. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?" 

The  man  retreated  a  step.  Kostakes'  face 
was  purple  and  his  eyes  looked  uncanny  in 
the  half  light,  like  a  cat's. 

"Your  men,  I  said,  are  going  to  the  custom 
house." 

"Bah!    Tell  them  to  go  to  the  devil!" 

The  Bashi  Bazouk  salaamed  and  started 
away,  but  Mehemet  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"The  Effendi  is  in  a  terrible  rage  about 
Platonides.  Tell  the  men  to  go  up  in  twos 


THE  INNOCENT  ONLOOKER          283 

and  threes,  and — and — to  keep  out  of  mis 
chief." 

"We  are  not  armed,  Effendi,"  replied  the 
man,  smiling  grimly,  and  laying  his  hand 
upon  the  butt  of  one  of  the  large,  old- 
fashioned  pistols  in  his  belt.  Besides  these 
weapons,  he  carried  a  long  Cretan  knife  in  a 
leathern  sheath,  tipped  with  silver. 

"We  are  not  armed,"  he  repeated,  "except 
for  dress." 

"There  will  surely  be  trouble,"  whined  Ben 
Sabbath,  "and  these  foreigners  are  our  best 
customers." 

"What  are  the  Christians  doing  now?" 
sneered  Kostakes,  standing  in  the  door.  He 
had  passed  into  one  of  those  periods  of  calm 
which  manifest  themselves  '  after  violent 
ebullitions  of  rage,  like  the  fearful  silences  be 
tween  thunderclaps. 

Mehemet  pointed.  The  British  troops  and 
the  marines  were  drawn  up  in  front  of  the 
custom  house.  Red  jackets  and  gleaming 
helmet  tips  on  one  side;  bare  knees  in  a  row, 
kilts  and  little  caps  with  frisking  tails  on  the 
other.  Numerous  Bashi  Bazouks  were  seen 
standing  among  the  throng,  several  of  them 
upon  its  outer  edge.  Kostakes  caught  sight 
of  the  hated  Platonides  in  company  with  a 


284  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

British  officer.  The  guard  saluted,  and  the 
Cretan  raised  his  hat,  as  though  the  military 
courtesy  were  intended  for  him. 

"If  there  is  a  row,"  chuckled  Kostakes,  "my 
men  will  attend  to  you.  They'll  install  you!" 

And  he  started  briskly  across  the  square, 
accompanied  by  Mehemet. 

Ben  Sabbath  retired  into  the  shop,  trembling 
with  fear. 

"Our  best  customers,"  he  muttered,  "and 
they  never  forgive  nor  forget!"  But  he  could 
not  restrain  his  curiosity,  and  so,  after  another 
moment,  he  peeped  from  the  door  again. 
Everything  was  proceeding  quietly  and  in  or 
der. 

"Bah!  There  will  be  no  trouble,  with  all 
those  English  there." 

He  tiptoed  across  the  open  space  in  front 
of  the  door,  ready  to  scurry  back  at  the  least 
symptom  of  alarm.  He  reached  the  edge  of 
the  throng,  and  forgetting  his  fear,  in  the 
midst  of  so  many  friends  and  neighbors, 
pushed  boldly  through,  arriving  at  the  farther 
edge  just  in  time  to  receive  a  bullet  in  his 
breast.  Clutching  at  the  air,  he  staggered  a 
few  steps  into  the  open  and  fell  dead,  with  one 
loud  cry  to  Allah  for  help.  Like  many  an 
other  peaceful  and  inoffensive  man  he  had 
fallen  the  first  victim  in  a  scene  of  violence. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
STILL   WITH   THE   ARMY 

KO STAKES  himself  had  been  the  indirect 
cause  of  Ben  Sabbath's  death.  This  is 
what  had  happened :  He  and  the  impet 
uous  Mehemet  were  standing  close  to  one  end 
of  the  line  of  Highlanders,  making  insulting 
remarks  in  Greek  for  the  benefit  of  Platonides 
and  their  Christian  neighbors.  Stung  beyond 
endurance,  the  excitable  Greek  pulled  the 
English  officer's  sleeve  and  pointed  to  his  tor 
mentors  with  raised  arm.  Kostakes  stepped 
boldly  forward  and  shook  his  fist  in  the  direc 
tion  of  his  enemy,  whereupon  one  of  the 
statues  in  kilts  came  to  life  and  dropped  the 
butt  of  his  musket  on  the  Turk's  toe.  The 
latter  sprang  back  with  a  cry  of  pain  and  the 
exclamation  in  Turkish: 

"Death  to  the  Christians!'* 

A  Bashi  Bazouk,  enraged  at  the  insult  suf 
fered  by  his  commanding  officer,  and  taking 
the  exclamation  for  a  command,  drew  his 
knife  and  plunged  it  to  the  handle  into  the 
Highlander's  back.  As  the  unfortunate  man 
fell  his  gun  was  discharged,  causing  the  death 

285 


286  LIKE  ANOTHER  HEI^EN 

of  Hassan  Ben  Sabbath  and  awakening  the 
demon  of  massacre  that  now  for  many  years 
had  lurked  in  the  towns  and  villages  of  Crete, 
feverishly  and  fitfully  sleeping.  And  what  an 
inconceivably  horrible  demon  it  is!  Here  is 
the  sweetly  wimpling  sea,  with  the  Grecian 
sky  above;  here  are  vineyards  and  pastures 
on  the  hillsides  and  the  ancient  pipe  of  the 
shepherd  boy;  here  are  white  villages  that 
should  hear  no  sound  save  such  as  harmonize 
with  the  vesper  chime  of  some  monastery  bell, 
drifting  across  the  waters,  or  the  choiring  of 
the  Cretan  nightingales.  And  yet,  nowhere 
on  earth  has  hate,  irresponsible  and  pitiless, 
found  so  congenial  a  home  as  among  these 
idyllic  scenes.  Mehemet  whipped  an  English 
navy  revolver  from  beneath  his  coat  and 
shouting  "Allah  il  Allah!"  fired  point  blank 
at  the  Lieutenant  in  charge  of  the  guard,  who 
sank  to  the  earth,  gasping: 

"Steady,  boys,  steady." 

Kostakes'  Bashi  Bazouks  came  plunging 
through  the  press  from  all  directions,  gather 
ing  about  their  master.  Knives  twirled  in  the 
sun  and  flashed  above  the  heads  of  the  people 
• — horrible  knives  with  concave  edges,  made 
for  the  cutting  of  throats.  And  now,  from 
windows  and  from  the  roofs  of  houses,  com- 


WITH  THE  ARMY  287 

menced  a  sporadic  sputtering  of  guns  against 
that  gallant  body  of  men  standing  in  front  of 
the  custom  house,  statues  yet,  save  when  now 
and  then  one  sank  to  earth* — brought  to  life 
by  death.  Their  officer  lay  dead  at  their  feet, 
and  his  last  words  had  been,  "Steady,  boys, 
steady!" 

The  beardless  boy  who  stood  there  now  in 
command,  a  trifle  pale,  but  firm  as  a  stripling 
oak,  was  for  one  moment  at  his  wit's  end. 
He  could  not  give  the  order  to  fire  into  the 
crowd,  killing  Turk  and  Christian  alike.  That 
certainly  would  not  be  obeying  the  last  com 
mand  of  the  man  whom  he  had  loved,  who  had 
been  his  model  soldier  and  gentleman.  At 
any  rate,  he  could  die  bravely;  Jie  was  not  in 
doubt  about  that  part  of  it  for  a  single  mo 
ment.  But  his  hesitation  did  not  last  long. 
A  gun  boomed  out  in  the  bay  louder  than  all 
the  pandemonium  on  shore,  and  a  shell  dropped 
on  the  roof  of  a  house  from  which  several 
Turks  had  been  firing  at  the  British.  He  would 
get  his  men  to  the  wharf,  as  close  under  shelter 
of  the  guns  as  possible. 

They  arrived  at  the  wharf  just  as  the  steam 
launch  from  the  "Hazard"  drew  up  to  take 
them  off,  and  two  sailors  held  her  fast  with 
grappling  poles.  Other  boats  were  creeping 


288        :LIKE  ANOTHER 

across  the  narrow  strip  of  sea,  their  oars  mov 
ing  rapidly,  like  the  legs  of  frightened  centi 
pedes.  The  little  sub-lieutenant  drew  up  his 
company  facing  the  rioters.  He  then  de 
tached  a  squad  to  put  the  wounded  into  the 
launch.  The  fall  of  the  first  two  or  three  shells 
had  caused  a  momentary  panic  in  the  town, 
during  which  the  British  succeeded  in  getting 
into  the  boats,  save  one  wounded  man,  who 
had  been  overlooked  somehow  in  the  excite 
ment. 

"Shove  off!"  cried  the  little  sub-lieutenant, 
standing  in  the  stern  of  one  of  the  boats, 
whither  he  had  leapt  last  of  all  that  gallant 
company. 

"Shove  off!"  repeated  the  middy  in  charge; 
and  the  boat  drifted  a  foot  or  so  from  the 
wharf,  as  the  grappling  poles  were  lifted.  But 
at  that  moment  the  little  "sub."  saw  the 
wounded  Highlander,  lying  helpless  upon  the 
cobblestones.  Even  as  he  looked,  the  man 
rose  to  his  knees,  swayed  a  moment  and  fell 
over  upon  his  side,  a  bundle  of  bright  tartan 
on  the  gray  cobblestones.  It  was  Tamas  the 
piper.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  the 
sub-lieutenant  sprang  to  the  wharf  and 
ran  to  the  rescue.  The  place  was  clear, 
as  the  rioters  had  drawn  back  from  the 


WITH  THE  ARMY  289 

threatening  guns  of  the  British,  and  were 
pouring  a  galling  fire  into  the  boats  from  win 
dows  and  corners  of  houses.  As  the  young 
hero  advanced,  all  these  rifles  were  turned 
upon  him,  and  he  was  aware  of  a  continual 
"zip!  zip!"  of  bullets  about  his  ears.  His  own 
men  now,  assisted  by  the  marines,  were  an 
swering  the  fire,  shooting  at  the  Turks  as  they 
stepped  slyly  out  from  the  shelter  of  buildings, 
or  arose  at  the  edge  of  roofs  to  take  aim. 
Tamas  was  clutching  one  of  the  pipes  of  his 
musical  instrument  with  an  unloosable  grip. 
His  rescuer  vainly  attempted  to  open  the 
bony  hand.  Seeing  that  the  effort  was  use 
less,  he  knelt  by  Tamas,  and  seizing  his  two1 
wrists,  drew  the  fainting  man's  arms  about  his 
neck;  rising  to  his  feet,  he  staggered  toward 
the  wharf,  with  the  Scotchman  upon  his 
shoulders.  The  bagpipe  dangled  like  the  limp 
body  of  some  animal.  Strong  arms  lifted 
Tamas  into  the  boat,  and  again  the  little  sub 
lieutenant  leaped  in  and  cried  "Shove  off!" 
The  sheath  of  his  sword  was  badly  bent  by  the 
impact  of  a  bullet  and  a  spot  of  blood  appeared 
near  his  groin,  and  rapidly  grew  larger. 

"My  God,  sir,   you're  wounded!"  almost 
sobbed  a  burly  Scot.    But  the  sub-lieutenant 


290  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEK 

was  young  and  familiarity  is  the  death  of 
authority. 

"Be  silent,  Ferguson!"  he  said,  sternly, 
without  deigning  to  look  at  the  flesh  wound 
in  his  side,  which  was  beginning  to  smart  like 
a  great  burn. 

"Did  you  bring  off  my  bagpipe?"  asked 

Tamas    Macmillan,   wounded   to   the    death. 

Tis  the  sweetest  instrument  in  a'  Scotland." 

A  laugh  of  derision  greeted  the  question, 
and  even  the  little  sub-lieutenant  smiled  as  he 
fainted  away  in  the  arms  of  Ferguson,  who 
muttered  fiercely,  "If  they  don't  give  him  the 
Victoria  cross  for  this  I'll  desert." 

Mr.  Ferguson  is  still  with  the  army. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

IN  THE  MIDST  OF  ALARMS 

THE  report  soon  spread  among  the 
Turks  that  the  English  had  been 
driven  into  the  sea.  Islam,  that  always 
believes  in  final  universal  triumph  and  the 
death  of  all  unbelievers,  was  drunk  with  vic 
tory.  The  Mohammedans  of  Canea  did  not 
stop  to  think  how  few  they  were.  It  seemed 
to  them  that  the  vengeance  of  Allah  was  at 
hand,  and  that  the  whole  world  of  the  faithful 
had  arisen.  A  band  of  howling  demons 
poured  down  the  streets  of  the  Christian  quar 
ter,  shooting  into  the  windows  and  doors  of 
the  houses,  hacking  down  with  their  long 
knives  all  who  were  not  able  to  get  out  of 
sight.  The  shells  which  the  "Hazard"  contin 
ued  to  drop  into  the  town  in  hopes  of  quelling 
the  uprising  only  added  to  the  terror  of  the  vic 
tims  and  the  fury  of  the  murderers.  The  Mo 
hammedan  has  no  fear  of  death  when  he  is  on 
God's  business.  Kostakes'  terrible  Bashi 
Bazouks  were  everywhere.  These  are  the  ir 
regulars  who  furnish  their  own  arms  and 
equipment.  They  or  their  families  have  suf 
fered  in  some  previous  conflict  with  the  Chris- 

291 


292  LIKE  ANOTHER  HE1.EN 

tians,  and  they  kill  for  revenge  and  the  true 
faith. 

Some  resistance  was  made  and  guns  barked 
from  half-closed  window  shutters  into  the 
faces  of  the  marauders.  But  whenever  this 
happened  it  only  hastened  the  fate  of  those 
within.  The  Christian  quarter  swarmed  with 
Turks.  They  crowded  the  streets,  leaped  over 
the  garden  walls,  pried  open  the  doors  of  the 
houses.  Those  who  were  not  there  out  of 
pure  thirst  for  blood  came  from  love  of  plun 
der. 

Kostakes,  with  his  friend  Mehemet  and  a 
half  dozen  of  the  Bashi  Bazouks,  did  terrible 
execution.  The  Captain,  as  with  drawn  sword 
he  drove  his  victims  to  bay  in  their  gardens 
or  into  angles  of  the  wall,  imagined  he  was 
still  talking  to  Panayota. 

"There'll  be  no  more  Christians,"  he 
shouted  again  and  again  as  he  thrust  home 
with  his  sword,  or  as  some  form  writhed  on 
the  bayonet  that  pinned  it  to  the  adobe  wall. 

"We're  going  to  kill  them  all." 

For  hours  murder,  rapine  and  plunder  ran 
riot  in  the  streets  of  Canea.  When  the  moon 
came  up  that  night  eight  hundred  dead  bodies 
were  lying  stark  and  ghastly  in  the  beautiful 
gardens. 


IN  THE  MIDST  OF  ALARMS         293 

At  the  first  sound  of  distant  firing,  the 
women  O'f  Kostakes'  harem  were  not  greatly 
terrified.  Another  slaughter  of  Christians  did 
not  mean  danger  to  them,.  Thoroughly  igno 
rant,  they  believed  that  all  the  kings  and 
potentates  of  the  world  were  vassals  of  the 
Sultan,  who  was  able  to  enforce  submission 
whenever  he  chose.  They  had  heard  from 
earliest  childhood  that  some  day  there  would 
be  a  grand  killing  of  Christians  and  other  un 
believers,  after  which  the  earth  would  be  in 
habited  by  Turks  alone.  No  doubt  the 
prophecy  was  even  now  coming  to  pass. 

"They  are  killing  all  the  Christians,"  said 
Souleima,  peeping  through  the  gate.  "All 
the  Christians  in  Canea." 

"Aren't  you  sorry  for  them?'1' 

"Bah!  why  should  I  be?  It's  their  own 
fault  if  they  are  Christians." 

"I  am  sorry  for  the  little  children,"  said 
Ayesha  with  a  shudder,  thinking  of  her  own 
little  boy,  that  had  died  in  infancy. 

Souleima  looked  slyly  at  Ferende,  who  was 
sitting  on  the  stone  steps  at  the  outer  side  of 
the  court,  her  fingers  in  her  ears.  The  sound 
of  the  guns  made  the  ex-favorite  nervous,  and 
she  wanted  to  think.  She  believed  that  a 
crisis  had  arrived  in  her  life.  The  terrible 


294  LIKE  ANOTHER  HEJLEN 

Turk  had  been  the  bogey  man  of  her  infancy. 
Surely  he  was  now  conquering  the  world. 
Who  would  be  queen  of  the  domestic  king 
dom  which  Kostakes  would  rear,  when  he 
should  return,  covered  with  blood  and  glory? 
Would  Panayota  remain  a  Greek  when  all 
her  countrymen  were  killed?  Alone, — the 
only  Greek  in  the  world? 

Ferende  laughed  scornfully  at  the  thought. 

The  boom  of  cannon  was  heard.  It 
sounded  very  clear  and  distinct  and  seemed 
to  cause  a  slight  tremor  of  the  earth  where 
they  stood.  They  looked  at  each  other  with 
startled  and  wondering  eyes.  The  sound  was 
repeated.  Then,  in  a  moment,  the  Turkish 
quarter,  which  had  been  hushed  to  whisper 
ing  silence,  broke  forth  into  a.  babel  of  femi 
nine  screams,  cries  of  children  and  the  noise 
of  many  frightened  women,  all  chattering  at 
once. 

"What  is  it?  O,  what  is  it?"  shrieked 
Ayesha  and  Souleima,  in  a  breath.  They 
looked  toward  Ferende,  but  she  was  gone. 
Again  that  dreadful  "boom,"  and  now  shrieks 
are  heard  in  the  streets,  and  the  sound  of  fly 
ing  footsteps.  Ayesha  and  Souleima  pull  the 
gate  open  and  look  out.  They  behold  a  panic. 
Women  clutching  their  offspring  however 


IN  THE  MIDST  OF  ALARMS         295 

they  can,  or  dragging  them  through  the  street 
by  the  arm;  old  men  doddering  with  long 
staffs,  or  holding  to  the  garments  of  their 
flying  daughters;  children  darting  after  their 
elders,  screaming,  "Mama!  mama!"  Some 
of  the  Turkish  women,  in  their  terror,  had  not 
covered  their  faces.  Others  instinctively  held 
handkerchiefs,  or  even  bare  hands,  before 
their  mouths  as  they  ran.  From  all  that  shrill 
uproar  an  occasional  word  or  syllable  de 
tached  itself;  cries  to  "Allah"  and  the  "Virgin," 
supplications  for  present  help  to  any  god  or 
saint  that  happened  to  be  uppermost  in  the 
mind.  And  every  time  that  terrible  "boom" 
was  heard  out  in  the  bay  the  tumult  swelled 
like  a  wave  rising  to  its  crest.  >  Ayesha  and 
Souleima  waited  for  no  explanation,  but,  add 
ing  their  voices  to  the  general  tumult, 
plunged  into  the  throng  and  were  swept  along 
with  it  toward  the  nearest  gate  of  the  city. 

Ferende  had  gone  to  free  Panayota. 
Bounding  up  the  dark  narrow  stairs,  she  mut 
tered  to  herself: 

"It's  my  only  chance.  I'll  be  a  drudge  all 
my  life  else." 

She  did  not  stop  to  reason  concerning  Kos- 
takes'  anger  or  his  possible  vengeance.  There 
would  be  time  enough  to  devise  some  story. 


296  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

The  thing  that  was  certain,  the  situation  that 
she  must  face,  was  "the  Christians  are  all 
being  killed,  and  even  the  girl  upstairs  will  see 
that  Mohammedanism  is  triumphant.  If  I  get 
rid  of  her,  I  shall  live  like  a  queen  the  rest  of 
my  days." 

Panayota  was  lying  on  the  bed  with  her 
face  in  the  pillow,  shuddering  and  whispering 
to  the  Virgin.  At  the  first  sound  of  the  guns, 
nature  had  given  way,  and  she  had  fallen  faint 
ing  to  the  floor. 

Recovering  consciousness,  she  had  found 
herself  too  .weak  to  rise,  and  had  crept  to  her 
couch,  where  she  lay,  moaning. 

Sometimes  there  would  be  a  few  moments 
of  quiet,  when  she  would  raise  her  head  and 
listen,  hoping  against  hope  that  something 
had  happened,  and  that  the  dreadful  sound 
had  ceased  forever.  But  no,  they  always  com 
menced  again;  one  report,  another,  and  then 
several  following  in  quick  succession,  or  else 
a  general  crash,  and  she  would  again  bury  her 
head  in  the  pillow. 

Thus  Ferende  found  her,  and,  shaking  her 
by  the  shoulders,  cried: 

"Quick,  Panayota,  run,  run!  They  are 
killing  all  the  Christians  in  the  world!" 

"I  want  to  die,"  cried  the  Cretan. 


She  wondered  if  she  would  be  able  to  run  that  gauntlet  ol  eyes 
without  being  discovered 


IN  THE  MIDST  OF  ALARMS          297 

"They  won't  kill  you — Kostakes'  woman. 
And  he  may  be  here  any  minute." 

Panayota  ran  into  the  hall.  Hope,  that  is 
always  living  where  it  seems  most  dead, 
thrilled  her  breast  with  a  sudden  ecstasy.  If 
there  was  any  opportunity  of  escaping  from 
the  filthy  Turk  and  his  pollution,  why,  then, 
she  did  not  want  to  die.  Before  her  was  the 
open  door  of  a  bedroom,  and  upon  the  bed  lay 
the  black  garment  and  veil  in  which  Moham 
medan  women  bundle  themselves  when  about 
to  walk  or  ride  out.  She  pounced  upon  these 
and  literally  scrambled  into  them.  Then  she 
stepped  to  a  window  and  looked  down  into 
the  street.  It  was  nearly  deserted,  save  for 
the  groups  of  women  peeping  from  windows 
and  half-opened  garden  gates.  She  wondered 
if  she  would  be  able  to  run  that  gauntlet  of 
eyes  without  being  questioned,  discovered. 
At  that  very  moment  the  situation  was  solved 
for  her.  The  sound  of  a  cannon  was  heard 
and  the  flight  from  the  Turkish  quarter  began. 
When  she  reached  the  garden  the  gate  was 
open,  and  the  street  was  full  of  frightened 
women  and  children,  all  running  in  one  direc 
tion.  There  was  another  roar,  louder  and 
fuller  than  the  spiteful  chatter  of  the  rifles.  It 
was  like  a  giant  shouting  in  a  yard  full  of  chil- 


298  iLIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

dren,  and  it  was  followed  by  a  general  shriek 
from  the  rabble  of  fleeing  non-combatants. 
Panayota  had  heard  cannon  before,  they  were 
simply  one  of  the  voices  of  war — in  this  case 
a  mere  phase  of  the  riot  o>f  blood  which  had 
broken  forth  upon  earth.  But  she  was  going 
to  flee  from  it  all.  In  that  brief  moment 
that  she  stood  in  the  gate  the  great,  faithful 
righteous  mountains  rose  before  her  mind; 
they  seemed  to  call  and  beckon  her.  Often 
had  she  dreamed  of  them  in  the  days  and 
nights  of  her  captivity,  but  then  they  were 
far  away.  Now  they  had  moved  nearer, 
the  mountains  of  Godj — her  refuge.  Crossing 
herself,  she,  too,  plunged  into  the  stream  of 
humanity,  was  swallowed  up  and  swept  along 
by  it. 

Kostakes  came  back  to  his  home;  came 
back  covered  with  Christian  blood,  and  long 
ing,  like  a  Turk,  for  the  Christian  maiden 
whom  he  had  locked  up  in  his  harem;  came 
back  cursing  the  Mother  of  God  and  gloating 
over  the  deed  which  he  had  resolved  to  do. 
But  he  found  his  house  rent  in  twain,  and  his 
garden  filled  with  a  great  heap  of  smoking 
rubbish.  He  looked  into  the  cleft  rooms  as 
spectators  at  a  theater  behold  the  interior  of  a 
house,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  any  live 


IN  THE  MIDST  OF  ALARMS         299 

thing  save  himself  in  all  the  street.  There  was 
Panayota's  room,  with  the  bed  standing  in 
the  corner  and  her  Cretan  jacket  hanging  to 
a  nail  in  the  wall.  But  she  was  gone.  Then 
a  great  fear  seized  Kostakes,  and  his  mother's 
blood  awoke  in  his  heart  and  surged  through 
his  veins  again.  Trembling  in  every  limb,  and 
with  pale  face,  from  which  the  flush  of  passion 
had  fled,  he  unconsciously  crossed  himself, 
muttering  hoarsely:  "It  is  the  vengeance  of 
.the  Virgin!  I  am  accursed!" 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

AN   INTERRUPTED   RESCUE 

4  6  A  H,  THE  shade  is  so  delicious!"  said 
/  \  the  Turkish  Major,  stepping  under 
a  pine  and  removing  his  fez.  Lind- 
bohm  dragged  the  handkerchief,  tied  turban- 
fashion,  from  his  brow,  and  wiped  his  face 
with  it.  The  cloth  was  black  with  powder- 
smoke  and  grimy  with  dust  from  previous 
contact  with  his  features. 

"It  is  always  cool  in  the  shade  in  this  coun 
try,"  he  observed,  running  his  fingers  through 
his  damp  pompadour,  "no  matter  how  white 
hot  it  is  in  the  sun." 

They  were  following  a  path  that  wound  like 
the  thread  of  a  screw  athwart  the  face  of  a  hill 
that  had  been  terraced  with  infinite  pains  and 
labor.  Plateaus,  from  four  to  twenty  feet  in 
width,  supported  by  walls  of  cobblestones, 
rose  one  above  the  other  like  steps  of  a  wide 
stairway. 

After  the  terraces  came  a  forest  of  small 
pines,  cool  and  fragrant.  It  was  now  near- 
ing  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  and  the  locusts 
were  at  work,  plying  their  sleepy  rasps, 

300 


AN  INTERRUPTED  RESCUE          301 

infinitely  numerous  and  monotonous.  They 
emerged  from  the  grove  into  a  narrow  path 
on  the  edge  of  a  steep  incline.  The  sol 
diers  ran  to  a  point  a  little  farther  on,  where 
a  pear  tree,  growing  close  by  the  side  of  a 
precipice,  served  as  a  ladder.  They  scrambled 
down  its  branches  into  the  garden  that  sur 
rounded  a  farmhouse  not  far  distant. 

"Was  this  a  Turkish  or  a  Christian  house  ?" 
asked  Lindbohm.  The  windows  and  doors 
were  broken,  and  a  pile  of  smashed  furniture 
lay  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  A  clematis 
vine,  that  had  once  carried  its  fragrant  snow 
up  to  the  tiny  balcony,  lay  upon  the  ground, 
among  the  ruins  of  its  trellis. 

The  Major  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Who  knows?"  he  replied.  "Whichever  it 
was,  the  results  are  the  same.  If  we  look 
around,  perhaps  we  may  fine  a  body  some 
where." 

"No,  no,"  said  the  Swede;  "I  have  no 
curiosity.  Let  us  be  going." 

He  furtively  stooped  and  picked  from  the 
tangled  clematis  a  crude  rag  doll,  and  slipped 
it  into  the  tail  pocket  of  the  long  coat.  His 
little  blue-eyed  sister  at  home  had  once  pos 
sessed  such  a  doll,  and  this  ruined  house 
touched  a  very  tender  spot  in  his  heart.  The 


302  £IKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

Turkish  Major,  white-haired,  erect  and  slen 
der,  was  strolling  away  through  the  stumps 
of  what  had  been  a  pear  orchard  before  the  ax 
of  the  vandal  had  laid  it  low.  Curtis  was  fol 
lowing,  holding  the  crooked  simitar  clumsily 
away  from  his  hip.  Lindbohm  wiped  a  tear 
from  the  corner  of  his  eye  with  the  back  of 
his  big  pink  hand. 

"It's  nice  to  have  a  wife  and  children,"  he 
mused,  "to  love  them  and  bring  them  up.  I'll 
help  him  find  her,  and  then — America!" 

They  came  to  a  broad  white  road  cutting  in 
twain  the  level  greenness  of  an  interminable 
vineyard.  The  vines  along  the  highway  were 
powdered  white  with  dust  and  the  dusty  little 
grapes,  green  and  hard,  gave  small  comfort 
to  the  thirsty  wayfarer.  The  three  pedestrians 
cast  their  eyes  down  the  long,  shining  stretch, 
over  which  the  heat  quivered  visibly.  They 
were  standing  beneath  an  olive  tree  at  the 
edge  of  the  rocky  and  wooded  tract  through 
which  they  had  come.  The  only  other  shade 
visible  for  at  least  a  mile  was  that  made  by 
a  solitary  brush  watch-tower,  far  out  in  mid- 
field.  The  Turk  sat  down  upon  a  rock,  and, 
removing  his  fez,  fanned  with  it  his  scanty 
gray  locks. 

"Do  you  know?"  he  asked,  smiling  sweetly 


AN  INTERRUPTED  RESCUE         303 

at  his  companions,  "the  proverb  of  this  coun 
try  concerning  people  who  walk  in  the  sun?" 

They  said  they  had  not  heard  it. 

"It  is  'Only  fools  and  Englishmen  walk  in 
the  sun/  " 

"Ah,"  said  Curtis,  laughing.  "I  remember 
now  that  I  have  heard  it,  but  it  was  not  ex 
actly  like  that.  It  was  'fools  and  foreigners' 
when  I  heard  it.  Now  I  understand  why  you 
Turks  are  called  the  Trench  of  the  orient/ 
It  is  because  of  your  politeness." 

Hassan  Bey  protested  feebly  and  drowsily. 
Sleep,  more  powerful  in  the  orient  even  than 
politeness,  was  overcoming  him.  He  settled 
himself  comfortably  against  the  trunk  of  the 
olive  tree;  his  head  lolled  to>one  side  and  his 
mouth  dropped  open. 

"It  would  be  a  pity  to  wake  him,"  said  Cur 
tis.  The  relaxed  features  looked  tired  and 
old.  "He's  not  a  bad  sort,  as  Turks  go,  and 
he  does  look  done  up." 

"He's  a  brave  man,"  said  Lindbohm.  "Let 
him  sleep  for  a  little  while,"  and  the  Swede, 
sitting  down  upon  a  flat  rock,  with  his  face 
between  his  palms,  gazed  at  a  little  patch  of 
sea,  glittering  far  away,  like  a  lake  among 
mountains. 

Curtis  lay  down  upon  his  back,  with  his 


304  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

fingers  interlocked  behind  his  head,  and 
watched  the  innumerable  twinkling  of  the  pale 
green  olive  leaves  above  him. 

"I've  been  in  this  island  so  long,"  he  mused, 
"that  I  don't  believe  I  shall  be  able  to  go 
around  the  world.  Shame,  too,  as  the  gov 
ernor  had  sort  of  set  his  heart  on  it.  I  haven't 
spent  much  money  in  Crete,  it's  true,  but  I 
promised  to  be  back  and  take  hold  in  the 
office." 

Closing  his  eyes,  he  could  see  the  great  shoe 
factory,  as  plainly  as  though  it  were  there  be 
fore  him,  the  neatly  fenced  enclosure  and  the 
path  by  which  the  small  army  of  employees 
came  and  went  every  day.  There  was  the 
office,  a  one-story  building  painted  white,  that 
stood  near  the  gate.  He  looked  into  the  front 
room,  and  there,  on  high  stools,  writing  in 
great  ledgers,  sat  his  father's  clerks,  an  old 
man  and  four  younger  ones.  And  in  the  little 
private  office  was  his  father.  There  he  sat 
tilted  back  in  his  swing-chair,  a  young  appear 
ing  man,  cheerful,  prosperous,  shrewd ;  not  an 
educated  man,  but  his  son's  most  intimate 
companion.  Curtis  laughed  as  he  thought  of 
the  "Trilby  Club"  of  which  his  father  was 
president.  They  made  Welsh  Rabbits,  played 
penny  ante  and  sang  rollicking  songs.  There 


AN  INTERRUPTED  RESCUE          305 

was  a  club  house  where  they  met  in  summer 
and  ate  fish  dinners. 

Then  his  mind  reverted  to  Panayota.  He 
always  saw  her  in  thought  with  a  jug  upon 
her  shoulder,  standing  on  the  edge  of  a  preci 
pice. 

"I  wonder  what  the  governor  will  think  of 
Panayota?"  he  muttered.  His  father  was  the 
high  priest  of  common  sense  in  the  Curtis 
household.  From  infancy  he  had  respected 
his  father's  judgment  and  feared  his  good- 
natured  ridicule.  John  Curtis  had  been 
brought  up  as  an  exemplification  of  the 
motto,  "My  son  will  never  make  a  fool  of  him 
self,"  and,  so  far,  he  had  been  the  pride  of  his 
father's  heart. 

"Come  to  dress  Panayota  in  European  cos 
tume,"  he  mused,  "and  she  would  make  a 
sensation  in  America.  But  lord,  wouldn't  she 
be  queer!  She's  grand  here  in  her  native 
•mountains,  but  you  can't  lug  a  mountain 
around  with  a  girl.  It  would  take  about  four 
years  of  education  to  fit  her  for  Boston,  or 
even  for  Lynn.  I  wonder  if  she'd  give  up 
crossing  herself.  My  mother  would  have 
seven  kinds  of  fits  if  she  ever  saw  the  girl 
cross  herself." 

Mrs.   Curtis  represented  the  religious  re- 


306  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

sponsibilities  of  the  family.  A  tall,  angular, 
bespectacled  New  England  woman,  brought 
up  strictly  in  the  Presbyterian  faith,  she  re 
garded  all  foreigners  as  heathen,  pining  to  be 
converted  to  the  doctrine  of  infant  damna 
tion;  and  a  taint  of  papacy  was  to  her  as  a 
taint  of  leprosy.  That  this  woman  had  eloped 
with  William  Curtis  when  he  was  a  penniless 
drummer  for  a  shoe  house,  was  no  indication 
that  she  would  countenance  similar  conduct 
in  her  son. 

"If  I  could  manage  in  some  way  to  have 
Panayota  educated  for  a  couple  of  years,"  he 
mused,  "and  then  bring  mother  and  the  gov 
ernor  over  here  to  see  her — they've  long  been 
talking  about  taking  a  trip  abroad.  The  first 
thing  is  to  get  her  away  from  Kostakes."  But 
here  a  thought  occurred  to  him  of  a  more 
serious  nature  than  any  that  had  yet  passed 
through  his  mind  in  connection  with  Pana 
yota. 

"I  wonder  if  Americans  wouldn't  look 
askance  at  a  woman  who  had  lived  in  a  Turk 
ish  harem?  (Wouldn't  she  bring  a  taint  of 
suspicion  with  her,  no  matter  how  pure  she 
might  be?  Of  course,  if  I  caught  anybody — " 

His  reflections  were  interrupted  by  Lind- 
bohm  exclaiming: 


AN  INTERRUPTED  RESCUE          307 

"Hello!    What's  that?" 

The  Turk  sprang  to  his  feet  and  looked 
away  toward  Canea,  as  he  realized  that  a  can 
non  had  been  fired.  It  was  the  first  gun  of 
the  "Hazard." 

"Perhaps  Yanne  has  set  up  his  flag  on  the 
blockhouse  again,"  commented  Curtis.  "The 
Greek  flag  seems  to  act  on  those  English  like 
a  red  rag  on  a  bull." 

"It  is  not  in  that  direction,"  said  Lind- 
bohm;  "it  is  toward  Canea,  is  it  not,  Mon 
sieur?" 

"Exactly,"  replied  the  Turk.  "Perhaps  it 
is  a  salute  of  some  ship  just  arrived."  For, 
even  as  he  spoke,  the  sound  was  heard  again. 

"Possibly,"  assented  the  Sw^ede,  "and  yet 
the  interval  did  not  seem  exactly  right — no, 
by  damn!  It  is  a  bombardment!"  Two  guns 
had  spoken  almost  together. 

"Could  they  be  bombarding  Canea?"  asked 
Curtis. 

"Let  me  see,"  replied  the  Swede.  "Well,  it 
is  not  probable,  but  possible.  Suppose  there 
was  one  grand  uprising  and  one  party  had 
seized  the  forts  and  fired  on  the  town.  Then 
they  might  reduce  the  forts.  Suppose  there 
was  one  grand  massacre1 — Turks  kill  all  the 
Christians,  or  Christians  kill  all  the  Turks,  or 


308        :LIKE  ANOTHER 

both  kill  each  other;  then  they  might  drop  a 
few  shells  yust  to  scare  them." 

"But  might  not  some  innocent  persons  be 
killed  by  the  shells?" 

"In  times  of  massacre  and  war,  innocent 
persons  must  yust  take  their  chances." 

The  sounds  continued,  irregular  but  fre 
quent.  Lindbohm  stood  gazing  in  the  direc 
tion  from  whence  they  came,  a  dreamy  look 
in  his  blue  eyes.  The  dull  detonations  seemed 
to  come  from  half  way  round  the  world.  They 
were  the  heart-beats  of  war,  throbbing  fierce 
ly  in  the  far  jungles  of  Cuba.  He  pulled  the 
handkerchief  from  his  brow  and  picked  clum 
sily  at  the  knot. 

"Let  'em  yust  go  it,"  he  muttered;  "shoot, 
kill,  burn,  and  then  blow  the  island  off  the 
earth.  It's  too  mixed  up  for  me." 

Curtis  was  tired.  He  sat  down  beside  the 
Major  and  listened.  The  Lieutenant  stood 
looking  at  the  sea,  tying  and  untying  the 
handkerchief,  and,  as  the  vision  of  scientific 
maneuvers,  artillery  duels  and  bayonet  charges, 
took  shape  in  his  mind,  the  flush  of  excitement 
flooded  the  stubble  on  his  unshaven  cheek. 

"I  will  join  the  Americans,"  he  mused.  "I 
will  draw  my  sword  for  liberty  and  progress," 
and  again  the  imaginary  sword  leaped  from  the 


AN  INTERRUPTED  RESCUE          309 

scabbard  and  his  pliable  wrist  moved  nervous 
ly  in  unison  with  his  thoughts.  Then,  of  a 
sudden,  the  flush  fled  from  his  cheek  and  he 
started  bareheaded  down  the  white  road. 

"Hello!"  cried  Curtis,  leaping  to  his  feet, 
"what's  the  matter,  old  man?  Wait  for  a 
chap,  can't  you?"  and  he  ran  after  him. 

"My  God!"  said  Lindbohm,  "have  we  for 
gotten  that  she  is  there?  It  may  be  Canea!" 

"Gentlemen,"  expostulated  the  Turk,  as  he 
came  up  out  of  breath.  "I  assure  you  that 
this  is  madness  in  this  hot  sun.  I  was  about 
to  propose  that  we  wait  for  two  or  three 
hours  in  the  shade,  and  walk  the  rest  of  the 
way  in  the  cool  of  the  evening.  See,  your 
head  even  is  uncovered,"  and  taking  the  hand 
kerchief  which  was  hanging  by  one  corner 
from  Lindbohm's  hand,  he  twisted  it  dexter 
ously  about  the  Swede's  brow. 

"It  did  not  till  this  moment  strike  me  forci 
bly  that  they  may  be  bombarding  Canea,"  ex 
plained  Lindbohm,  "and  even  now  it  does  not 
seem  possible  to  me."  He  talked  as  one  apol 
ogizing  partly  to  himself  and  partly  to  an 
other,  for  a  serious  offense.  "But  the  young 
lady  in  whom  my  friend  here  is — ah — inter 
ested,  is  in  that  city.  We  must  go  to  her 
rescue."  Emphasizing  the  remark  with  a  vio- 


310  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

lent  thrust,  he  again  hurried  forward.  The 
sun  beat  down  with  fearful  intensity,  but  the 
tall  Swede  forged  along  the  dusty  road  with 
doubled  fists  and  a  swinging  stride.  Curtis 
wondered  afterward  that  the  curious  figure 
had  not  impressed  him  as  ludicrous;  with  the 
long  tails  of  the  shrunken  coat  falling  apart, 
the  pompadour  standing  erect  in  the  encir 
cling  handkerchief,  like  a  field  of  ripe  wheat 
in  a  fence,  the  huge  fists  striking  at  the  trick 
ling  beads  of  sweat,  as  though  they  were  liv 
ing  things.  But  no,  old  Lindbohm  was  never 
ridiculous,  and  Curtis  struck  out  after  him,  his 
arm  aching  with  the  heavy  saber,  that  would 
fall  between  his  legs  the  moment  he  let  it  go. 

"Lindbohm  was  right,  of  course.  Poor 
Panayota,  what  a  fright  she  must  be  in!" 

In  utter  silence  they  strode  ahead.  The 
Turk  said  nothing,  although  he  marveled  and 
suffered  greatly.  He  owed  his  life  to  these 
foreigners,  and  he  had  determined  to  see  them 
safely  into  Canea.  If  they  chose  to  go  there 
in  the  broiling  sun,  and  into  a  storm  of  can 
non  balls,  and  all  for  a  unit  in  the  tribe  of 
women  who  are  as  the  blades  of  grass — all 
alike,  why  it  was  "kismet."  The  four  soldiers 
followed  because  he  was  their  officer,  and  a 
Turkish  soldier  always  goes  stupidly  wher- 


AX  INTERRUPTED  RESCUE          311 

ever  his  officer  goes,  whether  to  a  massacre  of 
Christian  babes  or  a  hell  of  belching  cannon. 
So,  for  a  full  hour  they  walked,  till  at  last  they 
came  into  a  region  of  gardens,  fenced  in  with 
high  stone  walls,  and  suddenly,  from  around  a 
corner  came  a  man,  carrying  a  small  child 
and  holding  a  woman  by  the  hand.  The  cou 
ple  stopped  and  looked  about  them  in  a  per 
plexity  of  terror.  Then  the  woman  leaped  up 
and  seizing  the  top  of  the  wall,  bristling  as  it 
was  with  broken  glass,  scrambled  over  like  a 
cat.  The  man  tossed  the  baby  after  her  and 
followed.  Curtis  and  Lindbohm  both  turned 
and  looked  inquiringly  at  the  Turk. 

"They  are  Christians,"  he  explained.  "Who 
knows  what  has  happened?"  A  tall,  bare 
headed  Cretan,  holding  a  little  girl  under  each 
arm  like  water  jugs,  appeared,  stopped  and 
stared  irresolute.  A  half-dressed  woman  with 
a  new-born  babe  at  her  breast,  and  a  girl  of 
twelve  clinging  to  her  skirts,  followed  him. 
The  woman,  with  a  shriek  of  terror,  slid  to 
her  knees,  beside  the  man.  It  was  a  painting 
of  fear,  a  Christian  family  in  the  Coliseum 
awaiting  the  wild  beasts. 

"Back!  back!"  cried  the  father  hoarsely, 
pushing  the  woman  with  his  knee.  Clutching 
wildly  at  his  clothing,  she  pulled  herself  to 


312  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

her  feet,  and  they  all  disappeared  as  they  had 
come.  Curtis  ran  down  to  the  corner,  just  in 
time  to  see  them  dart  into  another  lane,  be 
tween  two  other  gardens.  These  were  but 
the  forerunners  of  a  long  stream  of  terrified 
Christians,  who,  at  the  first  sound  of  the  firing 
at  the  custom  house,  had  fled  from  the  town. 
Lindbohm  and  the  Turks  came  up,  at  sight 
of  whom  the  fugitives  were  thrown  into  the 
greatest  consternation.  Curtis  and  Lind 
bohm,  determined  to  learn  what  in  truth  had 
happened,  walked  briskly  forward,  and  the 
motley,  gibbering,  Dantesque  throng  blew 
backward  as  though  struck  by  a  wind,  with 
much  looking  over  the  shoulder  and  many 
pitiful  shrieks.  As  they  streamed  in  the  other 
direction,  the  weaker  and  those  bearing  the 
greater  burdens  dropped  behind  in  a  thin  line; 
aged  women,  the  halt  and  the  lame,  frail  moth 
ers  carrying  their  children.  And  now,  in  all 
that  scene  of  despair  and  horror,  there  flashed 
out  a  spark  of  beauty,  inspiring  as  a  lone  star 
on  a  dark  night.  A  stripling — he  could  not 
have  been  over  twelvet — lingered  behind,  re 
treating  slowly  and  threatening  the  oncomers 
with  an  antique  gun.  He  was  slender,  this 
boy,  bareheaded  and  coatless,  in  blue  breeches 
of  Cretan  make  and  high,  untanned  boots. 


AN  INTERRUPTED  RESCUE          313 

He  held  his  long  rifle  featly,  and  as  he  stepped 
backward,  shaking  the  yellow  hair  from  his 
eyes,  Lindbohm  could  not  restrain  a  cry  of 
admiration. 

"Stop,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  Curtis' 
shoulder,  "that  boy  would  yust  as  leave  shoot 
as  not.  But  what  in  the  name  of — ach,  my 
God!" 

As  if  in  answer  to  the  unfinished  question, 
a  woman,  completely  crazed  with  fear  and 
grief,  came  stumbling  along  the  stony  road, 
bearing  upon  her  back  a  lad  nearly  as  large 
as  herself,  holding  him  by  the  wrists.  His 
throat  had  been  cut,  and  the  head  fell  back 
horribly,  lolling  from  side  to  side,  pumping 
out  the  blood  that  had  soaked  her  dress  to 
the  hips  and  her  long  hair  that  dabbled  in  the 
gash. 

Lindbohm  caught  her  by  the  arm  and 
shouted  to  her  in  English: 

"What  is  the  matter,  woman?  What  has 
happened  in  Canea?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  vacant  eyes,  and 
then  staggered  on  with  her  awful  burden. 

"Come  on,  little  Yanne;  come  on,  my  cy 
press  tree.  Hurry!  Hurry!  Mother  will  save 
him  from  the  Turks!" 


3 14  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

The  Major  stepped  up  to  Lindbohm  and 
Curtis  and  said  firmly: 

"Gentlemen,  I  see  that  a  general  massacre 
of  Christians  is  taking  place  in  Canea.  If  you 
go  there,  you  will  surely  be  killed.  I  beg  of 
you  to  come  with  me  to  my  country  place 
near  here,  where  I  will  protect  you  till  the 
danger  is  over." 

"Never!"  cried  the  Swede.  "We  go  to  the 
rescue  of  a  lady." 

"You  can  do  nothing,"  replied  the  Major, 
impatiently.  "If  she  has  not  already  escaped, 
it  is  too  late,  and  our  own  position  here  is  be 
coming  dangerous,  for  I  and  my  men  are  un 
armed,  and  a  band  of  armed  Christians  may 
appear  at  any  moment.  Join  your  voice  with 
mine,  Monsieur,"  turning  to  Curtis.  "I  as 
sure  you,  on  the  honor  of  a  Turk,  you  will 
never  even  get  to  the  city  alive." 

Curtis  hesitated. 

"Doubtless  the  lady  is  at  the  English  con 
sul's?"  hazarded  the  Major. 

"No;  she  is  in  the  most  fearful  danger.  She 
is  a  Cretan  in  the  house  of  a  Turk." 

"Ah,  I  remember.  But  then  she  is  not  in 
danger.  At  present  she  couldn't  be  in  a  safer 
place.  Whatever  her  position  is,  it  will  remain 
the  same,  and  you  can  find  her  later  on.  While 


AN  INTERRUPTED  RESCUE          315 

if  you  go  and  get  killed' — "    He  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  snapped  his  fingers. 

"By  Jove,  he's  right,  old  man,"  cried  Curtis. 
"He's  right.  Panayota's  safe  enough,  and 
we'd  only  get  her  into  trouble  by  going  now. 
Of  course,  if  you  go,  I'm  with  you,  but  he's 
right,  by  Jove,  he's  right." 

Lindbohm  who  had  been  impatiently 
fencing  with  his  invisible  enemy,  looked  ab 
sent-mindedly  away  towards  Canea  the  while 
he  rammed  the  imaginary  sword  home  into  its 
sheath. 

"Adieu,  Monsieur,"  he  said,  sweetly,  "and 
if  I  do  not  see  you  again,  merci  bien." 

"All  right,  old  man,  I'm  with  you,"  shouted 
Curtis,  grasping  the  sheath1  of  the  heavy 
simitar  and  starting  after.  At  a  motion  from 
the  Major,  his  four  soldiers  fell  upon  Lind 
bohm,  and,  after  a  mighty  struggle,  held  him 
fast.  The  Turkish  officer  ran  to  Curtis. 

"'Monsieur,  as  a  friend,  I  do  this.  It  is  the 
only  chance  to  save  your  lives!  To  advance  is 
certain  death!" 

So  they  bore  Lindbohm  away  to  a  little 
vine-clad  stone  tower  in  a  garden;  bore  him 
away  cursing  in  three  languages,  and  sput 
tering  vain  Berserker  froth  from  his  white  lips. 
And  Curtis  ran  at  his  side  shouting: 


316  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"But,  listen,  old  man,  damn  it,  listen  a  min 
ute.  The  Turk  is  right,  don't  you  see  that 
he's  right?" 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 
YE   WHO    ENTER   HERE 

PANAYOTA  was  part  of  the  flight  and 
of  the  panic,  but  she  was  not,  even  in 
the  moment  of  her  greatest  fear,  a  part 
of  the  Turks.  Her  one  thought  as  she  repeat 
ed  the  name  of  the  Virgin  beneath  her  yash 
mak  and  crossed  herself  with  her  hands  hid 
den  within  the  loose  black  robe,  was  to  get 
away  from  the  Mohammedans.  Let  the 
heavens  fall  and  the  earth  yawn,  so  she  escape 
from  Kostakes  and  his  kin!  The  ever-increas 
ing  stream  of  humanity  ran,  scrambled,  and, 
as  it  grew  denser,  fought  its  way  on  to  the  city 
gate,  through  which  it  poured  into  the  dusty 
road  beyond.  Once  outside  the  city  a  mo 
mentary  feeling  of  relief  possessed  the  throng, 
as  though  they  had  arrived  at  a  place  of  safety. 
They  did  not  cease  to  run,  but  there  was  a  lull 
in  the  frightened  chatter.  A  woman  seized 
Panayota  by  the  arm  and  addressed  to  her  a 
voluble  question  in  Turkish,  between  gasps 
for  breath  and  hysteric  sobs.  The  Cretan, 
not  understanding  a  word,  plucked  away  her 
sleeve  and  struggled  toward  the  edge  of  the 

317 


318  [LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

human  stream.  The  woman,  following,  again 
seized  her  by  the  arm  and  repeated  the  ques 
tion  in  a  voice  of  shrill  querulousness.  In  the 
midst  of  Panayota's  new  terror — that  of  be 
trayal — sounded  the  boom  of  another  gun 
and  the  crash  of  near-by  walls.  Her  tormentor 
screamed  and  clutched  both  hands  into  the 
back  of  a  tall  Turk,  in  whom  fear  had  proved 
a  stronger  passion  than  lust  or  fanaticism,  and 
who  was  fighting  a,  way  to  safety  through  his 
weaker  neighbors.  Panayota,  suddenly  re 
leased,  fell  clear  of  the  human  stream  against 
the  corner  of  a  hut  that  stood  by  the  road 
side.  She  ran  to  the  end  of  the  building  and 
looked  back.  It  was  absolutely  certain  that 
no  one  of  all  that  hysterical,  panic-stricken 
flock  of  human  sheep  saw  her.  She  stepped 
behind  the  building  and  reeled  for  a,  moment 
against  the  rough  mud  wall,  hands  upon  it 
high  up,  face  between  them.  She  felt  faint, 
but  the  Virgin  answered  her  prayers  with 
strength.  An  opening  in  a  hedge  of  aloes 
invited  her.  Through  this  she  stepped  and, 
stooping,  ran  for  a  long  distance,  keeping  the 
hedge  between  her  and  the  fleeing  Turks. 
She  came  at  last  to  a  little  building,  long 
and  low,  standing  by  the  side  of  a  cross  road. 
She  pushed  the  door  open  and  gave  a  cry 


YE  WHO  ENTER  HERE  319 

of  joy.  The  tall  stand,  with  its  circular 
top,  covered  with  spikes  for  holding  can 
dles,  the  curtained  recess  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  room,  the  crude  earthen  censer  in 
the  window — all  told  her  that  she  had  taken 
refuge  in  a  Christian  church,  which,  strange 
to  say,  had  neither  been  damaged  nor  defiled. 
On  the  wall  beside  the  curtain  was  a  tiny  shelf, 
and  upon  this  stood  a  bit  of  board  about  four 
inches  square,  bearing  on  its  hither  surface 
the  dim  resemblance  of  an  oval-faced  woman 
and  chubby,  naked  child. 

"Ah,  the  dear  Panayeia!"  cried  Panayota, 
transported  with  delight.  Tearing  her  Turk 
ish  garments  from  her,  she  threw  them  to  the 
earth  with  a  "Na!"  and  spat  upon  them. 
Then  she  turned  to  kiss  the  eikon,  but  ere  she 
did  so  it  occurred  to  her  that  the  place  was 
defiled  by  the  clothing  which  she  had  just 
removed.  She  therefore  gathered  the  pile  up 
and  peeped  from  the  door.  Seeing  no  one, 
she  hid  the  clothing  in  the  hedge  and  re 
turned  to  light  one  of  the  yellow  candles 
which  she  found  upon  the  stand.  She  took  it 
as  a  good  omen  that  half  a  dozen  matches, 
evidently  left  by  a  previous  worshiper,  were 
scattered  about  among  the  candles.  Pana 
yota  had  no  money  with  her,  not  a  lepton,  not 


320  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

a  para,  so  she  took  a  thin  gold  ring  from  her 
finger,  once  given  her  by  her  father,  kissed  it 
and  laid  it  among  the  few  copper  coins  on  the 
stand.  Wonderful  peace  and  comfort  came 
to  her.  The  sanctuary  of  the  Most  High 
seemed  pervaded  by  the  divine  presence. 
Save  for  the  flicker  of  the  beeswax  candle,  she 
was  almost  in  darkness.  It  was  nearly  sunset 
and  the  only  light  of  day  that  entered  came 
through  a  narrow  slit  in  the  thick  wall.  She 
went  to  the  door  frequently  and  listened, 
whenever  she  heard  excited  voices  and  foot 
steps  of  people  hurrying  along  the  road,  but 
all  the  passers-by  were  Turks.  The  world 
seemed  full  of  Turks. 

Just  at  dusk  three  men  stopped  opposite 
the  door  and  fell  into  a  dispute.  After  wran 
gling  for  a  few  moments  they  came  directly 
toward  the  church.  Panayota  ran  to  the  cur 
tain  and  then  drew  back  in  superstitious  ter 
ror.  Should  she  enter  the  Holy  of  Holies, 
even  to  save  her  life?  A  hoarse  laugh  at 
the  very  door  decided  her.  The  men  entered. 
She  heard  their  exclamation  of  surprise  at 
the  burning  candle,  though  she  could  not 
understand  what  they  said.  She  looked  about 
her,  impotent  with  terror,  her  white  lips  mov 
ing  mechanically  in  prayer.  In  the  end  of  the 


YE  WHO  ENTER  HERE  32! 

church  above  her  head  was  a  narrow  slit  to 
admit  the  light.  Even  as  she  stared  a  swallow 
flitted  in  and  out.  Fainting  with  fear,  she 
seemed  to  feel  herself  dragged  by  rough 
hands  from  her  hiding  place,  as  she  stood 
there  with  closed  eyes  behind  the  thin  curtain. 
A  fearful  scream,  the  scream  of  a  woman  in 
the  last  extreme  of  fright  and  horror,  did  not 
at  first  arouse  her.  It  seemed  perfectly  nat 
ural  for  a  woman  to  be  screaming.  Then,  all 
at  once,  the  consciousness  that  she  was  saved 
flashed  upon  her — saved  through  another's 
misfortune,  but  saved.  She  pulled  the  cur 
tain  back  and  peeped  out.  The  stand  had 
been  kicked  over,  the  candle  was  out,  but 
the  room  was  empty.  Still  those  dreadful 
screams  continued,  mixed  with  bestial  chuck 
ling  and  laughter.  A  Christian  girl  was  hys 
terically  shrieking  for  mercy.  Suddenly  the 
shrieks  ceased,  and  then  broke  forth  again  at 
a  greater  distance,  as  though  some  ruffian 
were  holding  his  hand  over  the  poor  girl's 
mouth  as  she  was  being  dragged  away.  Pana- 
yota  turned  sick  with  pity  and  terror — pity 
for  the  unknown  and  unseen  victim,  and  ter 
ror  at  her  own  narrow  escape.  A  long  period 
of  silence  ensued,  at  the  end  of  which  Pana- 
yota  plucked  up  courage  to  pull  the  door 


322        LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

open  a  trifle  and  peep  out.  It  was  now  nearly 
dark.  She  heard  distant  voices,  but  could  see 
no  one.  The  church  had  become  to  her  an 
abode  of  fear.  Mohammedans  might  enter 
it  at  any  moment  to  commit  sacrilege.  The 
hedge  was  near  by.  If  she  could  only  reach 
that  unobserved  she  could  flit  along  in  its 
shadow  toward  the  open  country.  Then  she 
could  run  all  night.  Several  times  she  nerved 
herself  for  the  start,  but  found  her  courage 
insufficient.  Once,  when  she  had  really 
pushed  the  door  open  wide  enough  to  let  her 
self  out,  she  heard  men's  footsteps.  She  drew 
back,  and  again  suffered  that  dreadful  appre 
hension  that  they  were  coming  into  the 
church.  They  were  two  Turkish  soldiers,  and 
they  went  right  on.  As  soon  as  their  foot 
steps  had  died  away  in  the  night,  Panayota 
crossed  herself,  and,  stooping  low,  ran  to 
the  hedge.  She  stole  by  it  for  some  distance 
until  it  was  cut  in  two  by  a  gray  streak  of 
road  that  dimly  threaded  the  darkness. 

"I  cannot  follow  the  hedge  all  night,"  she 
reasoned.  "If  I  get  out  into  the  country,  it 
must  be  by  the  road." 

Again  commending  herself  to  the  Virgin, 
she  started  down  the  highway,  walking  as 
quietly  as  possible  and  stopping  every  few; 


YE  WHO  ENTER  HERE  323 

minutes  to  listen.  She  had  not  gone  far  before 
she  became  aware  of  gruff  voices  and  she 
stole  a  little  way  into  the  field  and  crouched 
among  the  vines. 

"Perhaps  they  are  Christians,"  she  mused, 
and  the  mere  possibility  thrilled  her  with 
pleasure.  So  greatly  did  she  wish  it  to  be  so, 
that  she  actually  fancied  that  she  heard  Greek 
words.  Resting  upon  one  knee,  with  her 
hands  pressed  tight  to  her  fluttering  heart, 
she  leaned  forward  in  the  darkness,  a  smile 
flickering  upon  her  lips.  She  was  almost 
ready  in  her  confidence  to  cry  out: 

"Eh,  fellow  countrymen!"  when  the  voices 
undeceived  her. 

"O,  Mother  of  God!"  she  moaned,  "are 
there,  then,  no  more  Christians  in  thy 
world?" 

More  cautiously  than  before  she  stole  along 
the  faint,  slate-colored  ribbon  of  road  that  un 
folded  before  her,  a  few  feet  at  a  time  in  the 
'dimness  of  the  great  stars;  and  at  last  she 
beheld  a  light  that  flickered  and  went  out  sev 
eral  times  and  then  burned  feebly  but  steadily. 

As  she  stole  along,  undecided  whether  to 
make  a  wide  detour  or  to  trust  to  the  dark 
ness  and  pass  by  near  the  light,  two  men 
seemed  to  rise  from  the  very  ground  at  her 


324  iLIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

feet.  Panayota  saw  them  first  and  managed 
to  slip  by  them,  but  her  foot  hit  a  stone  and 
sent  it  rolling  down  the  bank.  One  of  the 
men  called  after  her  in  Turkish.  She  did  not 
dare  to  run,  but,  lifting  her  skirts,  tiptoed 
away  with  long  steps.  The  men  made  a  sud 
den  rush  for  her,  and  she  flew  down  the 
road  on  the  wings  of  fear,  screaming  once, 
"Help!  Help!  Panayeia!" 

As  her  pursuers  heard  the  feminine  voice 
and  the  Greek,  they  shouted  "Ho!  Ho!  A 
Greek  pullet!"  and  came  stumbling  after;  but 
Panayota  was  a  Sphakiote  maiden  and  not 
so  easily  caught.  On,  on,  she  ran,  with  the 
sound  of  those  heavy  footsteps  and  that  satyr 
laughter  ever  in  her  ears,  and,  as  it  seemed 
to  her,  nearer,  nearer.  She  came  to  a  place 
where  the  roads  forked,  and,  by  some  instinct, 
followed  the  right  branch  toward  that  tiny, 
flickering  beacon  that  seemed  to  beckon  her 
in  the  darkness.  All  at  once  her  pursuers 
stopped,  burst  into  a  hoarse  guffaw  and  went 
back.  Panayota  could  not  for  the  moment 
believe  it.  She  feared  they  were  simply  tor 
turing  her;  that  they  would  turn  again  in  a 
moment  and  resume  the  chase.  She  stag 
gered  on,  too  faint,  almost,  to  stand,  yet  not 
daring  to  stop.  She  was  passing  a  row  of 


YE  WHO  ENTER  HERE  325 

small  houses.  They  were  square  patches  of 
bluish  gray,  and  the  doors  were  long  holes 
where  the  dark  came  through.  Here  was  ab 
solute  silence,  as  though  it  were  the  city 
of  the  dead,  and  the  walls  of  the  dwellings 
were  giant  tombstones.  But  here  at  last  was 
the  house  of  the  light.  Panayota  stood  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  road  and  looked  into 
the  open  door. 

"A  Christian  at  last!"  she  cried.  "Now 
God  be  praised!" 

A  bare  little  room  she  beheld,  with  a  floor 
of  beaten  earth,  and  containing  only  a  couple 
of  chairs  and  a  pair  of  barangas,  or  platforms 
of  plank  on  each  side  of  the  fireplace. 
Upon  the  wall  hung  an  eikow  of  the  dear, 
blessed  Virgin,  and  upon  a  shelf  beneath  sat 
a  tumbler  of  olive  oil  upon  whose  surface 
floated  a  burning  wick.  A  woman  stood  be 
fore  the  eikon,  crossing  herself  rhythmically 
and  praying  with  a  silent  motion  of  the  lips. 

But  while  Panayota  stood  in  the  door,  be 
fore  she  could  open  her  mouth  to  speak,  her 
fleeting  joy  gave  place  to  the  old  terror.  This 
was  but  a  woman,  after  all,  with  whom  she 
was  about  to  take  refuge,  and  the  Turks  were 
just  behind  her  and  all  about. 

'Panayota  seized  the   door  jamb  to  keep 


326  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

herself  from  falling,  and  her  head  drooped 
against  her  arm. 

"Woman,"  she  gasped,  "are  you  not  crazy? 
Why  do  you  not  run?  The  Turks!  The 
Turks!" 

The  woman  looked  around.  She  was 
young  and  comely,  with  an  oval  face  from 
which  the  black  hair  was  neatly  brushed 
back,  low  down  over  the  ears.  Her  eyes  were 
large — unnaturally  large  and  dark — and  there 
was  in  them  an  expression  which  awed  Pana- 
yota.  Their  utter  fearlessness  was  uncanny 
at  such  a  time,  and  back  of  it  was  a  depth  of 
accepted  despair  that  has  tasted  all  grief  and 
hence  knows  no  further  fear. 

"You  are  in  no  danger  from  the  Turks 
here,"  said  the  woman.  Her  voice  was  in 
finitely  calm.  It  came  into  Panayota's  world 
of  fire,  massacre,  outrage,  like  a  voice  from 
another  sphere. 

Then  all  at  once  light  seemed  to  break  in 
upon  Panayota's  mind  as  she  stood  there  be 
wildered. 

"She  is  dazed  with  fear  or  some  great  mis 
fortune,"  she  thought.  "She  is  losing  her 
mind,"  and,  springing  forward,  she  seized  the 
woman  by  the  arm,  crying  in  her  ear: 


YE  WHO  ENTER  HERE  327 

"Come  away,  sister — the  Turks!  the 
Turks!" 

But  the  woman  shook  her  off  and  shrank 
from  her  and  motioned  her  back  with  out 
stretched  arms  and  uplifted  palms,  saying: 

"Do  not  touch  me!" 

"But  the  Turks  are  upon  you!" 

"We  who  live  in  this  village  are  not  afraid 
of  the  Turks.  Who  comes  here  runs  a  greater 
danger  than  that  of  the  knife." 

"Yes,  I  know.  Violence,"  whispered  Pana- 
yota,  turning  her  face  toward  the  door  and 
listening. 

"Who  would  offer  violence  to  a  leper?" 

If  there  is  any  horror  in  a  Cretan  girl's 
mind  equal  to  that  of  dishonor  it  is  the  horror 
of  leprosy — that  hideous  sore  on  the  body  of 
the  loveliest  siren  isle  that  floats  in  any  sea. 
Panayota,  in  her  vigorous  and  life-giving 
mountain  home,  had  heard  leprosy  spoken 
of  as  a  curse  of  God.  She  had  always  classed 
it  with  the  punishments  of  hell — something  to 
be  shuddered  at  even  when  mentioned;  but 
the  possibility  of  coming  into  contact  with  it 
had  never  entered  her  mind. 

She  turned  to  flee  again  into  the  darkness, 
when  she  heard  in  the  street,  almost  before 
the  door,  the  sound  of  footsteps,  and  husky, 


328  LJKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

gargling  voices  talking  Turkish.  Panayota 
sank  to  the  floor  senseless.  Two  Mohamme 
dan  lepers,  who  lived  farther  down  the  street, 
passed  by  on  their  way  home.  They  did  not 
look  in  because  Aglaia,  stepping  quietly  over 
the  prostrate  form,  had  closed  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
THE  BETTER  PART  OF  VALOR 

AGLAIA  stood  irresolute,  looking  at  the 
woman,  who  lay  as  quietly  as  though 
she  were  sleeping,  upon  the  floor  of 
hard-beaten  earth.  Her  first  impulse  was 
to  pick  her  up  and  drag  her  to  one  of  the 
platforms  at  the  fireplace,  for  her  heart  for 
got  its  own  bitterness  for  the  moment,  and 
was  filled  with  pity  for  the  Christian  maiden 
who  had  taken  refuge  in  her  horrid  home. 

"No,  no,  I  will  not  touch  her/'  she  mur 
mured  at  last,  "for  so  it  is  most  frequently 
given  and  caught." 

So  she  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  watching 
Panayota.  She  did  not  have  long  to  wait, 
for  the  young,  vigorous  constitution  soon  as 
serted  itself.  Panayota  opened  her  eyes  and 
stared  straight  up  at  the  ceiling;  then  the 
light  caught  them  and  she  looked  at  the 
eikon,  murmuring,  "Panayeia,  save  me!" 
She  sat  up  and  looked  deep  into  Aglaia's 
large  and  mournful  eyes.  The  latter  said 
nothing,  but  she  saw  complete  consciousness 

329 


330  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

and  recollection  dawning  in  her  guest's  coun 
tenance. 

"Do  not  be  so  frightened,"  said  Aglaia.  "I 
will  not  touch  you  nor  come  near  you,  and 
it  is  only  by  contact  that  one  catches  the — 
leprosy.  The  Virgin  will  shield  you." 

Panayota  rose  to  her  feet.  She  was  a 
priest's  daughter,  and  religion  was  her  ever- 
present  comfort.  "She  has  saved  me  thus 
far  in  a  wonderful  manner,"  she  replied,  and, 
going  over  to  the  eikon,  she  prayed  that  the 
Panayeia  would  protect  her  from  the  horrible 
disease  and  help  her  to  escape  to  the  moun 
tains  and  her  own  people.  Aglaia  brought 
bread,  olives  and  cheese  and  set  them  upon 
the  table. 

"Na!"  she  said,  "eat  and  gain  strength, 
and  we  will  devise  some  means  for  you  to 
get  away  from  here." 

Panayota  felt  as  though  the  very  food  were 
contaminated,  but  she  managed  to  eat  some 
of  the  bread,  pulling  morsels  from  the  center 
of  the  loaf.  Once  again  she  heard  voices  from 
without,  and  started  from  her  seat,  whisper 
ing: 

"The  Turks  are  coming!" 

"Fear  nothing  here,"  said  Aglaia,  in  that 
calm,  uncaring  voice;  "you  are  as  safe  here 


BETTER  PART  OF  VALOR     331 

as  if  you  were  in  your  grave — safer,  for  the 
Turks  sometimes  exhume  the  bones  of  Chris 
tians,  but  they  never  disturb  us.  We  are  all 
dead  in  this  village,  dead  to  the  hate  of  the 
world,  to  its  love,  to  its  friendship." 

Panayota  could  make  no  reply.  Human 
sympathy  seemed  a  mockery  in  the  face  of 
such  sorrow  as  this.  She  stepped  to  the  door 
and  looked  out.  All  was  silent  in  the  narrow 
street.  The  lepers  are  not  a  gay  folk,  and 
sleep  is  to  them  God's  greatest  boon. 

"They  do  not  even  fear  the  Turks !"  she  mut 
tered.  "My  God !  Suppose  I  should  catch  it ! 
I  must  get  away  from  here." 

Turning,  she  looked  keenly  at  Aglaia,  who 
sat  with  hands  clasped  in  .her  lap,  rock 
ing  gently  forward  and  back. 

"But  you  do*  not  seem  to  be  sick,  my  sister. 
Why  do  you  think  you  have  leprosy?  You 
look  as  well  as  I  do." 

Aglaia  laughed  bitterly.  Rising,  she  struck 
her  left  leg  with  her  doubled  fist,  and  stamped 
upon  the  ground. 

"Numb,  numb,"  she  said.  "No  feeling. 
I  am  only  one-fourth  dead  now,  but  it  will 
creep  on,  on,  over  my  whole  body.  Come  here 
a  few  years  from  now,  when  it  gets  into  my 


332  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

face,  and  you  will  know  whether  I  am  a  leper 
or  not." 

Panayota  stood  for  a  long  time  looking 
out  into  the  darkness.  She  was  weary  to  very 
faintness,  but  it  seemed  safer  to  stand  there, 
turning  her  face  to  the  night,  breathing  the 
cool  air.  Besides,  she  could  not  talk  with  this 
woman.  She  did  not  know  what  to  say  to 
her.  At  last  Aglaia  spoke  again: 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said,  with  a  sob  in  her 
voice.  "I  have  no  one  to  talk  to,  and  I  sit 
here  and  brood  over  it.  And  it  will  be  for 
years — for  years.  But  you  must  be  very  tired, 
and  you  must  rest  so  as  to  go  on  with  your 
journey.  Come  and  lie  down  on  the  baran- 
gitza.  I  will  not  come  near  you." 

Panayota  lay  down  upon  the  hard  planks 
and  made  a  pillow  of  her  arm. 

"I  cannot  offer  you  the  bed-clothing,"  said 
Aglaia.  "It  might  not  be  safe." 

So  weary  was  Panayota  that  she  dropped 
off  into  a  doze,  only  to  be  awakened  after 
a  few  moments  by  the  sound  of  low  sobbing. 
Listening,  she  heard  the  words: 

"O,  my  God,  I  am  an  outcast,  a  thing  ac 
cursed.  I  am  poison  to  the  touch.  Holy  Vir 
gin,  save  my  children,  save  my  little  ones." 

Panayota  sat  up  on  the  bench. 


BETTER  PART  OF  VALOR     333 

"I  cannot  sleep,  sister  Aglaia,"  she  said, 
"I  am  SO'  sorry  for  you.  If  my  father  were 
here  he  would  know  what  to  say  to  you.  He 
was  killed  by  the  Turks.  I  am  an  orphan/' 

She  spoke  of  her  own  grief  instinctively, 
feeling  that  the  sympathy  of  the  prosperous 
is  not  a  comfort  to  those  in  sorrow. 

"My  father  was  a  good  man,  sister  Aglaia. 
He  was  a  priest,  and  everybody  loved  him. 
,My  mother  died  when  I  was  a  little  girl  and 
left  me  to  his  care.  He  never  said  an  unkind 
word  to  me  in  all  his  life.  He  used  often 
to  talk  to  me  about  mama,  and  his  voice 
was  very,  very  tender.  And  he  used  to  put 
his  arm  around  me  there  in  the  door  of  our 
little  parsonage,  at  night,  before  we  went  to 
bed,  and,  pointing  to  the  stars,  he  would  say: 
'When  we  all  get  together  up  there,  you  will 
tell  mama  that  I  was  good  to  you,  won't  you, 
Panayota?'  And  I  used  to  say  to  him:  'Oh, 
papa,  I  ask  the  Virgin  every  night  to  tell  her/ 
But  mama  knows,  sister  Aglaia,  she  knows 
it  all  now." 

"Oh,  but  your  mother  is  dead  and  in 
heaven,"  replied  Aglaia,  "and  you  can  cherish 
her  memory  and  plant  flowers  upon  her 
grave.  But  suppose  she  had  been  a  leper, 
accursed  of  God,  would  you  not  have  thought 


334  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

of  her  with) — with  horror?  As  she  grew  more 
and  more  repulsive,  would  you  not  have  shud 
dered  even  at  the  thought  of  her?" 

"No,  no,  indeed.  I  should  have  thought 
always  of  her  beautiful  soul.  Her  misfortune 
would  have  made  my  love  greater.  That  is 
the  way  any  child  would  feel  toward  its 
mother." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  cried  Aglaia. 
"O,  it  does  me  so  much  good  to  hear  you, 
say  so.  I  have  a  husband  and  two  children 
• — a  girl  and  a  boy.  That  is  why  you  saw  me 
praying  when  you  came  in.  I  pray  all  the 
time  to  the  Virgin  to  save  them  from  the 
curse.  I  never  pray  for  myself.  I  am  past 
all  help.  But  I  pray,  pray  night  and  day 
for  my  children." 

"But  there  is  another  world,"  said  Pana- 
yota,  solemnly.  "Do  you  never  ask  for  hap 
piness  in  that?" 

Aglaia  laughed  bitterly. 

"Listen,"  she  replied.  "My  children  never 
come  here.  I  would  not  allow  it.  But  some 
times  I  go  down  to  the  bank  by  the  roadside, 
where  the  other  lepers  go  to  beg,  and  my 
husband  brings  them,  and  stands  afar  off,  and 
I  look  at  them  and  stretch  my  arms  toward 


BETTER  PART  OF  VAIjOR  335 

them.  Is  there  any  greater  hell  than  that? 
When  you're  a  mother  you  will  know." 

"But,"  interrupted  Panayota,  who  had  en 
tirely  forgotten  her  own  troubles  in  the  pres 
ence  of  such  great  sorrow,  "are  you  not  afraid 
for  their  safety,  over  there  in  Canea?" 

"No,  praise  God!  My  husband  is  captain 
of  a  caique.  He  has  gone  to  Athens  and 
taken  the  two  children  with  him.  Before  he 
went  away  he  brought  them  down  to  see  me. 
And  the  baby  laughed  and  shouted,  'Na, 
mama;  come  here,  mama!'  My  baby  has 
red  cheeks  and  curly  hair,  but  Yanne  doesn't 
know  how  to  fix  her  hair." 

She  sat  for  some  time  in  thought,  and 
Panayota  heard  her  mutter,-  "Na,  mama; 
come  here,  mama."  And  later:  "When 
my  face  changes  I  shan't  go  down  to  see 
them  any  more.  I  shall  never  let  them  see 
me  like  that." 

iPanayota  went  to  the  door  and  gazed  at 
the  sky  through  a  mist  of  tears.  iWhat  a 
dreadful  place  this  was,  where  there  was  grief 
that  not  even  the  Virgin  could  assuage!  A 
cool  breeze  from  the  sea  was  abroad  over  the 
land,  and  one  star  glittered  like  a  drop  of 
dew  on  a  spray  of  lilac.  Yonder  were  the 


336  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

hills  to  which  she  longed  to  flee' — gray  giants, 
moving  toward  her  out  of  the  darkness. 

The  whole  earth  was  swallowed  in  silence, 
and  the  beautiful  valley  that  spread  out  before 
her  seemed  wrapped  in  the  slumber  of  peace. 
But  alas!  if  she,  looked  to  the  right,  a  few 
slender  columns  of  smoke  rising  from  Canea 
bore  witness  to  the  dark  deeds  of  yester- 
eve  and  last  night.  Panayota's  momentary 
joy  at  the  coming  of  day  forsook  her  at  sight 
of  that  smoke.  The  light  was  cheering,  but 
it  did  not  help  her  to  see  any  escape  from 
her  perilous  position. 

An  hour  passed  away,  and  the  sun  rose. 
Aglaia  made  some  coffee,  which  Panayota 
drank  without  revulsion.  Everything  about 
the  little  hut  was  spotlessly  clean,  and  the 
stricken  woman  herself  had  not  yet  fallen 
into  those  careless  ways  which  come  to  the 
leper  when  all  pride  is  extinguished. 

"How  shall  I  be  able  to  go  on  my  journey?" 
asked  Panayota. 

"God  will  show  a  way.  He  has  not  deserted 
you  as  he  has  me." 

"Perhaps  He  has  deserted  all  Christians. 
Perhaps  the  whole  world  has  turned  Turk. 
If  so,  I'd  rather  stay  here  and  be  a  leper." 


BETTER  PART  OF  VALOR     337 

"Never  believe  it.  Yanne,  my  husband, 
who  is  a  great  traveler,  says  that  the  English 
will  one  day  kill  all  the  Turks  in  the  world, 
and  give  Crete  back  to  Greece.  And  the 
English  are  in  some  respects  like  Christians. 
At  any  rate,  they  do  not  believe  in  Moham 
med." 

The  lepers  began  to  bestir  themselves.  A 
patriarchal-looking  man  with  a  tuft  of  white 
hair  above  each  ear,  a  snowy  beard  and  a  dirty 
mustache,  shuffled  by  the  door,  carrying  a 
water  jug.  Seeing  the  two  women,  he  stopped 
and  peered  into  the  hut,  saying: 

"Good-morning,  sister  Aglaia,"  and  "Good- 
morning,  sister " 

"Pa — Paraskeve,"  stammered  Panayota. 

"Where  are  you  from,  sister,  and  how  long 
have  you  been  afflicted?" 

Aglaia  answered  glibly.  Her  guest  was 
from  a  little  village  far  away.  God  only 
knows  how  she  had  got  leprosy,  and  she  had 
only  come  last  night.  The  old  man  wore  a 
priest's  frock,  shiny  and  ragged,  and  reaching 
to  his  feet.  His  woolen  shirt  was  open  in 
front,  disclosing  two  or  three  tawny  stains. 
His  face  was  unnaturally  red,  far  up  onto  his 
bald  brow,  and  was  streaked  with  angry-look 
ing,  vein-like  lines.  He  had  no  eyebrows. 


338  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"Hum,"  he  said.  "Adio!  Adio!"  and  he 
shuffled  away,  muttering: 

"God  have  mercy!    God  have  mercy!" 

'That's  Papa-Spiro,"  explained  Aglaia. 
"He  is  a  priest.  They  say  that  it  is  a  judg 
ment  on  him — that  he  made  love  to  one  of 
his  congregation." 

A  wretched  being  who<  wore  enormous  blue 
goggles  over  his  eyes  and  who  directed  his 
footsteps  by  tapping  the  ground  in  front  of 
him  with  a  long  staff,  held  in  hands  curiously 
twisted  and  deformed,  looked  in  at  the  door. 

"What  is  it?  What  is  it?"  asked  the  blind 
man,  with  that  feverish  impatience  which  the 
smallest  events  excite  in  isolated  communi 
ties. 

"  Tis  the  new  leper.  She  is  very  beauti 
ful,"  replied  voices. 

"I'm  not  a  leper,"  cried  Panayota.  "God 
save  me  and  protect  me,  and  keep  the  evil 
eye  from  me!" 

"Hush!"  whispered  Aglaia.  "Do  not  be 
tray  yourself." 

"Describe  her  to  me,  my  brother." 

"She  has  beautiful  hair  and  eyes  and " 

But  the  remainder  of  the  description  was 
drowned  in  the  many  questionings  of  new  ar 
rivals.  The  gossip  priest  had  told  several 


BETTER  PART  OF  VALOR     339 

acquaintances  of  Panayota' s  advent,  and  the 
news  was  spreading  through  the  whole  vil 
lage.  The  group  grew  to  a  dozen — to  twenty. 
They  moved  closer  to  the  door  and  stood 
looking  silently  in — such  as  possessed  eyes. 
Fear,  horror  and  anger  surged  through  Pana 
yota's  heart  at  the  time;  afterwards  she  could 
never  think  of  those  pitiable,  outraged  wrecks 
of  the  image  of  God  without  tears. 

A  burly  form  parted  the  throng  and  a  face 
looked  in — a  face  infinitely  disgusting  and 
infinitely  terrible,  and  that  somehow  re 
minded  Panayota  of  a  lion — she  could  not  tell 
why. 

'Take  them  away!  Take  them  away!" 
moaned  Panayota,  covering  her- face  with  her 
hands  and  retreating  behind  Aglaia.  And 
suddenly  her  overwrought  nerves  found  vent 
in  tears,  and  she  began  to  sob  violently. 
Aglaia,  but  little  better  accustomed  to  the 
horrid  spectacle  than  her  guest,  found  her 
voice  with  difficulty. 

"Go  away,"  she  said,  "for  your  souls'  sakes! 
Do  you  not  see  that  you  are  frightening  the 
poor  thing  to  death?" 

"Perhaps  she  doesn't  think  I  am  beautiful," 
said  the  Face,  with  a  laugh.  "I  had  come  to 
ask  her  to  marry  me." 


340  UKE  ANOTHER  HEI^EN 

"Are  you  Christians  or  Turks?"  asked 
Aglaia,  remembering  that  nearly  all  the  mem 
bers  of  the  colony  were  Greeks. 

"Go  away  and  come  at  another  time.  In 
God's  name,  go  away!" 

She  could  not  shut  the  door,  as  two  or 
three  of  the  lepers  had  crowded  into  the  open 
ing. 

"Doesn't  like  our  looks,  eh?"  said  another. 
"Never  mind,  brothers;  she'll  look  like  the 
rest  of  us  soon  enough — and  you,  too,  for 
that  matter,  Madam  Aglaia.  There's  noth 
ing  in  the  world  like  leprosy  as  a  cure  for 
pride." 

Thanks  to  Panayota's  sobs,  she  did  not 
hear  the  remark,  but  Aglaia  did,  and  felt  all 
of  its  cruel  force.  She  could  make  no  reply, 
except: 

"True,  true.  God  have  mercy!"  Thus 
she  stood,  helpless,  when  of  a  sudden  the  hid 
eous  faces  were  all  turned  away  from  the  door 
together. 

"Silence!"  cried  one  of  the  lepers,  for  a  mil 
itary  quickstep  could  be  heard  in  the  dis 
tance. 

"Allah  be  praised!"  said  one  of  the  Turks. 
"It  is  the  Sultan's  army  going  forth  to  con 
quer  the  island." 


she  covered  her  lace  with  her  hands  and  shrank  back  into 
the  lepers'  hut 


BETTER  PART  OP  VALOR     341 

The  insistent,  eager  notes  of  martial  music 
caught  Panayota's  ear.  A  moment  she 
stood  listening,  and  then  turned  deadly  pale. 

"Kostakes!"  she  gasped.  "Kostakes  and 
the  Bashi  Bazouks!"  and  again  she  caught  at 
the  door  jamb  to  keep  herself  from  falling. 

"Hark!"  cried  Aglaia,  "that  is  not  Turkish 
music,  neither  is  it  Greek.  It  is  foreign  music. 
This  should  mean  great  news.  You  wait 
here  a  few  moments  and  I  will  go  find  out." 

Aglaia  hastened  down  the  road  and  Pana- 
yota  stood  in  the  door,  waiting  and  listening. 
The  sound  of  the  music  grew  louder,  came 
nearer.  The  body  of  troops  was  passing  down 
the  line  of  the  fork  that  formed  the  opposite 
boundary  of  the  lepers'  village.  '  Aglaia  had 
been  right.  That  was  not  Turkish  music; 
the  tune  was  foreign  to  Panayota,  but  it 
thrilled  her  somehow.  She  loosed  her  fingers 
from  the  door  jamb,  her  hands  dropped  by 
her  side  and  she  stood  erect. 

As-  she  listened  .thus  and  looked  down  the 
road,  anxiously  waiting  the  return  of  Aglaia, 
a  man  approached  her.  The  first  intimation 
that  she  had  of  his  presence  was  the  sound 
of  crunching  footfalls.  Instinctively  she 
covered  her  face  with  her  hand  and  shrank 
back  into  the  house.  Mother  of  God! 


342  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

Was  this  person,  too,  about  to  inflict 
himself  on  her?  Whoever  it  was,  he  had 
evidently  stopped  outside,  before  the  house — 
was  waiting  there.  Perhaps  some  face,  more 
hideous  than  anything  she  had  yet  seen, 
would  appear  at  the  door. 

"Will  he  never  go?"  she  muttered,  her  teeth 
chattering.  "I  must  get  away  from  here — 
away  into  God's  clean,  free  mountains.  No! 
I  believe  he  is  going  away.  Praise  God!" 
for  the  crunch,  crunch  of  footsteps  in  the 
coarse  gravel  was  renewed — grew  fainter  in 
the  distance.  Panayota  was  about  to  peep 
from  the  door  again  when  she  heard  other 
footsteps,  of  people  walking  rapidly.  These 
passed  by  without  stopping.  She  heard  a 
man  call  as  though  shouting  to  some  one 
far  away,  and  then  there  was  silence  for  so 
long  that  she  once  more  ventured  to  look 
out. 

It  had  been  Hassan  Bey  calling  to  Curtis, 
and  begging  him  to  walk  more  slowly.  What 
trifles  affect  our  destinies!  Had  Lindbohm 
lifted  up  his  voice  as  he  was  on  the  point  of 
doing,  this  story  might  possibly  have  a  dif 
ferent  ending. 

Panayota  saw  only  Aglaia  coming  down 


BETTER  PART  OF  VALOK     343 

the  road,  waving  her  arms.  She  lost  all  fear 
and  ran  to  meet  her. 

"It's  the  English,"  cried  the  woman. 
"They  are  arresting  Turks  right  and  left. 
They  are  throwing  the  leaders  into  prison 
and  taking  the  guns  away  from  the  Bashi 
Bazouks." 

"Now  God  be  praised!"  laughed  Panayota. 

"The  Turks  are  hiding  like  hares.  Not  one 
dare  show  his  head.  Papa-Spiro  says  that 
all  the  principal  Turks  will  be  hanged  and 
the  rest  driven  into  the  sea." 

Panayota's  eyes  blazed  and  she  held  her 
head  high  as  she  marched  back  to  the  leper's 
hut,  unconsciously  keeping  step  to  the  tune 
of  "Tommy  Atkins." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 
TO   A   PLACE   OF   SAFETY 

4  4  T  WILL  walk  with  you  to  the  other 
end  of  the  village,"  said  Aglaia.  Papa- 
Spiro  had  returned  also  from  the 
roadside.  He  had  talked  with  a  young 
man  from  Canea.  The  English  were  thor 
oughly  angry  because  their  soldiers  had  been 
killed.  They  were  going  to  send  over  a  great 
army. 

"O  yes,  it  would  be  perfectly  safe  for  a 
Christian  to  go  anywhere  now.  Not  a  Turk 
would  dare  peep." 

Panayota  had  long  ago  formed  her  plans, 
when  she  had  dreamed  of  escape  in  the  house 
of  Kostakes.  Her  mother's  brother,  Kyrios 
Kurmulidhes,  lived  at  Asprochori,  a  little  vil 
lage  about  twenty  miles  from  Canea.  She 
had  often  heard  her  father  speak  of  him  as  a 
godly  man,  and  now  Papa-Spiro  said  that 
Asprochori  had  not  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
the  Turks.  In  the;  early  days  of  the  insur 
rection  the  Cretans  had  held  that  region,  and 
since  the  arrival  of  Colonel  Vassos  from 
Greece  the  Mohammedans  had  not  been  able 
to  get  out  there  at  all.  It  was  still  early  morn- 

344 


TO  A  PLACE  OF  SAFETY  345 

ing;  she  would  be  able  to  reach  the  place 
before  nightfall. 

She  talked  excitedly  as  she  set  forth,  carry 
ing  the  cotton  bag  into  which  Aglaia  had  put 
a  half  loaf  of  bread  and  some  cheese. 

"O  yes,  this  is  a  glorious  thing  for  Crete. 
God  was  long  suffering,  but  everything  came 
right  in  the  end." 

Aglaia's  enthusiasm  passed  away  as  sud 
denly  as.  it  had  come.  Her  leg  felt  lamer 
than  usual  and  she  had  great  difficulty  in 
keeping  up  with  the  strong,  healthy  young 
woman  who  was  going  out  into  a  world  of 
light  and  joy.  They  were  passing  a  row  of 
square,  white  huts,  each  containing  but  one 
room.  The  first  half  dozen  that  they  passed 
were  vacant;  their  occupants  had  gone  to 
hear  the  music,  and  had  remained  by  the  road 
side  to  beg. 

They  passed  the  little  graveyard,  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  town.  Several  humble 
tombstones  standing  among  the  tall  grass 
and  a  black  cross  or  two  marked  the  last  rest 
ing  place  of  lepers  who  have  gone  to  the  com 
fort  prepared  for  those  who  do  not  get  their 
good  things  in  this  lifetime. 

"Now  good-bye,  and  God  bless  you!"  said 
Panayota. 


346  UKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"Why,  where  are  you  going?"  asked  Papa- 
Spiro. 

"She  is  not  a  leper,"  explained  Aglaia. 
"She  came  to  me  last  night  for  refuge,  and  I 
took  her  in." 

"Not  a  leper!"  exclaimed  the  priest.  "Now 
pray  God  that  she  has  not  caught  it." 

"Christ  and  the  Virgin  save  me!  Christ 
and  the  Virgin!"  cried  Panayota,  crossing 
herself. 

"Amen!  Amen!"  said  Aglaia.  "Do  not 
even  speak  of  it,  Papa-Spiro." 

"Adio!"  said  Panayota,  moving  away. 
"Adio,  and  God  be  with  you!"  The  old  priest 
with  the  bloated  face  and  the  white  beard 
extended  his  hands. 

"Before  you  go,  daughter,"  he  said,  "take 
the  blessing  of  a  poor  old  leper,  who  still  be 
lieves  in  the  mercy  of  God." 

Panayota  bowed  her  head. 

"God  be  with  this  Thine  handmaiden,"  said 
the  priest,  solemnly;  "bless  her  and  keep  her 
and  bring  her  to  a  place  of  safety.  In  the 
name  of  the  Father,  Son  and  Holy  Ghost, 


amen." 


Once  out  of  the  leper  village,  Panayota 
walked  very  rapidly,  once  or  twice  actually 
breaking  into  a  run.  The  great  hills,  upon 


TO  A  PLACE  OF  SAFETY  347 

whose  lower  slopes  lived  her  mother's 
brother,  looked  so  near  that  she  fancied  her 
self  able  to  climb  to  the  top  in  half  an  hour. 
But  she  soon  lost  breath  and  was  obliged  to 
stop  and  rest  beneath  a  tree.  She  had  no 
doubt  of  her  welcome  by  Kyrios  Kurmulid- 
hes.  He  had  often  written  to  her  father — 
poor  papa! — and  had  expressed  the  greatest 
wish  to  see  his  sister's  daughter. 

"I  must  not  tire  myself  all  out  at  the  start/' 
she  reasoned.    "It  is  much  farther  away  than 


it  seems." 


So  she  struck  out  again  in  the  bright  sun 
at  a  strong,  steady  gait.    Once  she  heard  the 
clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  in  the  distance,  rap 
idly  growing  louder  as  they  came  near,  and 
she  fancied  herself  pursued,  and  looked  about 
for  some  hiding  place.    Then,  turning  around, 
she  saw  half  a  dozen  red-cheeked,  light-haired 
foreigners  upon  horseback,  and  at  their  head 
a  mere  boy,  with  a  face  like  a  girl,  but  who, 
nevertheless,  sat  very  straight  and  took  him 
self  quite  seriously.     She  felt  the  earth  shake 
with  the  beating  of  hoofs,  and  stepped  to  the 
side  of  the  road  to  see  them  pound  by  in  a 
whirl  of  dust.     But  they  had  not  gone  far  be 
fore  the  young  officer  threw  his  arm  in  the  air 
and  called  out  a  single  syllable  in  a  clear,  sharp 


348  UKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

tone,  and  the  horses  stopped  so  suddenly  that 
they  reared  on  their  haunches.  The  officer 
spoke  a  few  words  hurriedly,  and  one  of  the 
troopers  fell  o<ut  and  rode  back  toward  her. 
She  must  have  exhibited  evidences  of  fright, 
for  the  man  called  out  in  Greek,  laughing 
merrily: 

"Don't  be  afraid,  stupid.    We  are  friends." 

"What  is  it?  What  is  it,  fellow  country 
man?"  cried  Panayota,  delightedly.  What  a 
change  had  come  over  the  earth!  But  yes 
terday  you  met  only  Turks,  heard  only  Turk 
ish,  and  now  the  whole  world  was  speaking 
Greek. 

"Are  you  from  Canea?"  asked  the  trooper. 

"No,  I  am  a,  Sphakiote  maiden.  I  was 
taken  prisoner  by  the  Turks,  but  now,  thank 
God,  I  am  escaping." 

"You  wouldn't  happen  to  know  Yussuf 
ErTendi  by  sight,  then?" 

"No." 

"Did  any  old  Turk  with  a  white  beard 
pass  here  on  a  mule?" 

"Not  a  soul;  but  I've  only  been  on  the 
road  about  half  an  hour.  Why,  who  are  you? 
What  has  Yussuf  done?  Where  does  he " 

"We're  arresting  the  ringleaders  in  the  mas 
sacre.  Yussuf  is  one  of  them.  I'm  an  inter- 


TO  A  PLACE  OF  SAFETY  349 

preter  with  the  English  army.  You  can  go 
back  to  Canea  or  anywhere  you  wish,  sister, 
in  perfect  safety.  It  isn't  healthy  to  be  a  Turk 
these  days.  Adio,  and  many  thanks." 

"Adio." 

They  were  gone,  and  Panayota  resumed 
her  way.  After  an  hour's  walk  through  gar 
dens  and  vineyards  inclosed  in  low  mud  fences 
overgrown  with  vines,  she  came  to  the  foot  of 
a  tiny  hill.  Climbing  this,  she  saw  plainly 
the  triangular  little  village  of  the  lepers,  with 
its  suburb  of  tombs — houses  for  the  dying 
and  the  dead.  The  huts  were  all  neatly  white 
washed,  and  looked  very  peaceful  and  pretty 
against  the  foreground  of  green  trees  and 
vines.  Farther  away  were  the- round  Turkish 
mosques,  the  Christian  bell  towers  of  Canea, 
and  the  tops  of  high  buildings  rising  above 
the  gray  walls.  Two  or  three  thin  columns 
of  smoke  rose  to  a  great  height  and  bent  lazily 
landwards. 

Toward  noon  Panayota  came  to  a  moun 
tain  stream,  beside  which  grew  several  fig 
trees.  She  climbed  into  one  of  these  that 
forked  near  the  ground  and  succeeded  in  find 
ing  half  a  dozen  purple  figs  among  the  cool 
green  leaves.  Then  she  washed  her  face  and 


350  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

hands  in  the  brook  and  took  the  bread  from 
the  bag. 

"Poor  Aglaia!  Poor  Aglaia!"  she  said, 
shuddering.  "Heavenly  Virgin  comfort  her!" 

She  pulled  the  crust  off  the  bread  and  threw 
it  away,  together  with  the  sack  and  the 
cheese.  "The  first  thing  I  shall  do  when  I  get 
to  Uncle  Petro's,"  she  resolved,  "will  be  to 
ask  him  for  some  clothes.  Then  I  will  burn 
these— uh!" 

Much  refreshed  with  the  bread  and  figs 
and  a  drink  of  the  cool  mountain  water,  Pana- 
yota  again  set  out  briskly,  on  her  journey, 
her  heart  full  of  hope.  Indeed,  she  seemed 
to  be  under  the  Virgin's  special  care,  for  just 
as  she  had  come  to  a  place  where  there  were 
two  roads,  and  was  in  doubt  as  to  which  one 
she  ought  to  take,  a  venerable  priest  came 
trotting  around  a  corner,  seated  sidewise 
upon  a  very  smaH,  bluish-gray  donkey. 

"Yes,  the  road  to  the  right  led  to  Aspro- 
chori,  about  ten  miles  distant,"  he  replied, 
removing  his  tall  hat  and  wiping  his  brow 
with  a  red  bandanna  handkerchief.  "O  yes, 
he  knew  Kyrios  Kurmulidhes  very  well  in 
deed,  a  godly  and  a  just  man — be  quiet  there !" 

The  last  remark  was  addressed  to  a  pair 
of  young  goats,  hung  to  the  saddle  in  a  sack 


TO  A  PEACE  OP  SAFETY  351 

and  covered  by  the  father's  long  black  robe. 
He  had  already  heard  of  the  arrival  of  the 
English,  and  was  in  hopes,  by  the  grace  of 
God,  to,  sell  them  these  two  kids  at  twice 
their  value.  So  he  trotted  away,  bobbing 
up  and  down  on  his  little  donkey,  not  looking 
at  all  grotesque  to  Panayota,  in  his  tall  hat 
with  eaves,  his  gray  chignon  and  his  long, 
wind-lifted  robe. 

And  as  Panayota  fared  onward,  she  had 
ever  in  her  mind  that  she  was  coming  into  the 
country  of  the  Cretan  insurgents,  and  she 
muttered  again  and  again: 

"Perhaps  I  shall  hear  something  of  him. 
Perhaps  he  will  be  there!" 

In  this  new,  bright  world  everything 
seemed  possible. 


CHAPTER  XL 

A   TROUBLED    MIND 


"  D  ITY!  pity  !"  whined  the  lePers>  ex- 

posing  their  hideousness  with  all  the 
skill  of  subtle  and  experienced  mer 
chants.  They  were  all  there  by  the  road 
side  leading  into  Canea,  and  had  com 
menced  business  for  the  day.  Curtis  stared 
at  them,  unable  to  remove  his  eyes  from  the 
dreadful  spectacle. 

Lindbohm,  fumbling  nervously  in  his  pock 
ets,  with  averted  face,  and  producing  two  or 
three  coppers,  tossed  them  to  the  afflicted 
group. 

"Come,  away,"  he  said,  pulling  Curtis 
along.  "I  cannot  bear  to  look  at  them." 

The  Turk  had  been  telling  them  of  the 
leper  colony,  and  they  were  not  totally  unpre 
pared  for  this  sight;  yet  the  reality  far  ex 
ceeded  the  description. 

"But  you  should  see  those  who  are  not 
able  to  come  down  here  and  beg,"  exclaimed 
the  Major;  "these  are  comparatively  well  yet, 
you  know." 

"I  hope  I  may  never  see  them,"  said  Lind- 

352 


A  TROUBLED  MIND  353 

bohm.    "I  hope  I  may  never  see  these  again." 

The  Swede  bore  the  Turk  no  ill-will  for 
the  enforced  detainment.  It  had  not  lasted 
for  long,  and  the  Major  had  shown  his  guests 
every  attention,  and  had  explained  again  and 
again  that  he  had  carried  Lindbohm  off  to 
save  his  life. 

"But  those  who  are  no  longer  able  to  beg," 
asked  the  Lieutenant,  "do  they  starve?" 

"O  no,  indeed!  They  are  living  monu 
ments  to  the  tender-heartedness  of  my  august 
master,  the  Sultan.  Each  of  the  lepers  is  fur 
nished  one  loaf  of  bread  a  day." 

"O,  I  see,"  said  Lindbohm. 

Curtis  took  no  part  in  the  conversation. 
He  did  not  even  hear  what  the  others  were 
saying,  but  walked  on  beside  them  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground,  like  a  man  in  a 
trance.  Every  now  and  then  he  ejaculated 
"Good  God!"  with  the  accent  on  the  "good." 

At  last  he  stopped  so  abruptly  that  the 
Turk,  who  was  directly  behind,  nearly 
knocked  him  over. 

"I  say!"  said  Curtis,  whirling  around  and 
choking  a,  stream  of  fluent  apologies  with  a 
vehement  question: 

"Do  people  who  are  not  lepers  ever  go 
into  that  village?  To  see  their  friends,  you 


354  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

know,  or  to  stop  over  night,  or  anything  of 
that  sort?" 

"Impossible.  You  have  seen  the  disease. 
Do  you  think  any  one  would  run  the  risk  of 
catching  it?" 

Curtis  strode  on  and  became  again  im 
mersed  in  thought,  vaguely  hearing  the 
Major's  explanation  of  the  fact  that  nearly  all 
the  lepers  of  Crete  were  Greeks. 

At  each  side  of  the  gate  of  Canea  stood 
an  English  marine,  in  red  jacket  and  cork 
helmet.  A  business-like  "Halt!"  woke  Cur 
tis  from  his  abstraction. 

"I  am  Peter  Lindbohm,  Lieutenant  of  cav 
alry  in  the  Swedish  army,"  said  Lindbohm  in 
English,  pulling  an  immense  portfolio  from 
the  breast  pocket  of  the  Prince  Albert.  Here 
is  my  card." 

One  of  the  marines  took  the  proffered 
pasteboard,  glanced  at  it  solemnly,  and  sa 
luted. 

"And  here's  mine,"  said  Curtis.  "I'm  an 
American.  And  this  gentleman  is  a  Turkish 
officer.  We  were  coming  across  the  country 
on  foot,  and  he  said  we  were  in  danger  of 
being  massacred,  so<  he  took  us  to  his  house 
and  kept  us  there  till  the  English  landed,  and 
here — here's  my  passport,  too,  if  you  can 


A  TROUBLED  MIND  355 

manage  to  read  it.     It's  been  in  the  water." 
"What  do  you  want  to  do  now,  sir?" 
"We  have  friends  inside,"   replied  Lind- 

bohm,  "and  we  wish  to  find  out  whether  they 

are  safe  or  not.    We  wish  to  go  in." 

"Very  sorry,  gentlemen,  but  we  'ave  strict 

horders  to  admit  no  one  for  the  present." 
"But  we  two  are  not  Turks — nor  Cretans. 

I  am  a  Swede,  and  my  friend  here  is  an  Amer 


ican." 


"Very  sorry,  gentlemen " 

"But  this  may  be  a  matter  of  life  and  death! 
A  Christian  lady,  the  betrothed  of  this  young 
gentleman,  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Turks " 

"Very  sorry,  gentlemen.  Move  away  from 
the  gate,  please." 

Lindbohm  was  too  good  a  soldier  not  to 
know  what  that  meant.  So<  they  went  to  a 
house  near  by,  belonging  to  a  friend  of  the 
Major,  and  waited  two  whole  days,  during 
the  most  of  which  time  the  Swede  and  the 
American  had  the  place  to  themselves,  for 
the  Major  and  his  friend  were  arrested  and 
carried  off  before  the  end  of  the  first  day. 
They  went  repeatedly  to  the  gate,  demanding 
admittance,  and  were  refused  as  often  by 
the  sentinels,  until  the,  third  morning,  when 
they  were  greeted  with  a  smile  and  a  "Hit's 


356  L.IKE  ANOTHER  HE1,EN 

hall  right  now,  gentlemen;  you  may  henter — 
'im  givin'  hup  'is  sword,  which  will  be  re 
stored  to  'im  at  'eadquarters." 

Lindbohm  raised  his  hand  in  military  salute 
to  his  red  bandanna  and  passed  under  the  an 
cient  archway.  Curtis  handed  over  the  simi 
tar  and  followed. 

"D'yever  see  two  such  guys?"  asked  one 
red  jacket  of  the  other.  "Never'n  me  loife. 
But  the  tall  one's  a  soldier,  all  right.  D'ye  see 
'im  s'loot?" 

Now,  had  two  men  attired  as  were  Curtis 
and  Lindbohm  at  that  moment  entered  any 
other  town  in  the  world,  their  grotesque  ap 
pearance  would  have  excited  attention,  not 
to  say  jeers,  and  a  crowd  of  small  boys  would 
have  been  following  at  their  heels.  The  gray 
Prince  Albert  was  wrinkled  and  faded,  and 
so  badly  shrunken  that  it  caused  Lindbohm's 
arms  to  fall  a  trifle  akimbo.  Altogether,  it 
was  a  garment  very  inharmonious  with  the 
tall  yellow  boots  into  which  his  trousers  were 
tucked,  and  the  gaudy  handkerchief  which, 
twisted  about  his  brow,  did  service  for  a  hat. 
He  had  picked  up  a  slender  stick,  which  took 
the  place  of  the  bamboo  cane,  and  with  which 
he  occasionally  warded  off  an  imaginary 
thrust,  as  he  strode  up  the  street,  looking 


had  they  entered  any  other  town  in  the  world,  their  grotesque 
"appearance  would  have  excited  attention 


A  TROUBLED  MIND  357 

eagerly  about  him.  Curtis'  once  natty  busi 
ness  suit  had  been  torn  in  several  places.  He 
also  wore  Cretan  boots,  and  his  costume  was 
completed  by  a  Turkish  fez  provided  by  the 
hospitable  Major,  who  had  managed,  in  addi 
tion,  to  afford  his  two  guests  a  bath,  and  an 
opportunity  to  shave. 

Lindbohm  was  quite  voluble. 

"Bear  up,  my  friend,"  he  said;  "we  shall 
surely  find  her.  Remember  that  she  was  in 
a  Turkish  house,  the  very  safest  place  she 
could  be  in." 

Curtis  continued  to  be  silent  and  preoc 
cupied,  a  condition  which  the  Swede  attrib 
uted  to  the  fear  that  something  had  happened 
to  Panayota,  and  that  their  long  search  would 
be  rendered  vain  at  the  very  end.  Yet  he 
could  not  understand  the  American's  seem 
ing  listlessness,  mingled  with  absorption  and 
perplexity. 

"He  acts  like  a  man  who  has  been  hit  on  the 
head  with  a  musket  butt,"  thought  the  Swede, 
glancing  shrewdly  at  his  companion.  "Great 
heavens,  can  it  be  that  he  has  a  presentiment 
of  evil?" 

Then  aloud: 

"We  must  go  straight  to  the  military  au 
thorities — to  the  English.  We  will  tell  them 


358  idKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

all  about  Panayota,  and  if  Kostakes  has  her 
yet  they  will  yust  make  him  give  her  right  up 
— eh,  my  friend?" 

"Ye-es,"  replied  Curtis.  "Yes,  O  yes;  cer 
tainly." 

The  Turks  whom  they  met  looked  sullen. 
The  foreign  troops  were  everywhere,  march 
ing  in  small  bodies  through  the  streets.  If 
two  or  three  Mohammedans  stopped  to  talk 
together  an  English  redcoat  was  sure  to  step 
up  to  them  with: 

"G'an  now,  move  on !"  Not  much  damage 
had  been  done  to  the  part  of  the  town  through 
which  they  were  now  passing.  There  was  a 
sprightly  gossiping  of  bugles,  hailing  and  re 
plying  from  distant  points,  and  the  frequent 
clatter  of  shod  hoofs  as  some  orderly  galloped 
across  an  intersecting  street.  And  all  the  noise 
and  bustle  was  threaded  by  a  continual  tune, 
not  sung  loudly,  but  insistently,  like  the  motif 
of  an  opera. 

The  Cretans  whom  they  met,  whether  jubi 
lant  or  sad  of  face,  seemed  to  be  humming  it — 
some  joyously,  others  revengefully. 

"Do  you  hear  that?"  cried  Lindbohm, 
"Panayota  will  be  singing  the  hymn  of  liberty 
herself  to-day.  We  must  make  her  sing  it  all 


A  TROUBLED  MIND  359 

through  for  us.     I  wish  I  could  understand 
the  words." 

And  he  beat  time  with  his  cane  as  a  tall 
Cretan  strode  by,  humming  very  distinctly: 

"We  can  tell  you  by  the  lightning 

Of  your  terrible  swift  brand, 
And  we  know  you  by  the  brightening 

When  your  proud  eyes  sweep  the  land!" 

"Panayota  will  be  singing  that  at  this  very 
moment,  eh?"  cried  Lindbohm,  laying  his 
hand  upon  Curtis'  shoulder;  but  the  latter 
made  no  reply. 

From  the  narrow  street  they  passed  into  a 
place  of  smoldering  ruins  and  roofless,  ragged 
walls.  Here  a  party  of  marines  were  at  work, 
assisted  by  townspeople,  throwing  water  on 
fires  that  were  still  burning,  or  in  digging 
bodies  out  of  the  debris.  A  cart  stood  near, 
and  an  awestruck,  silent  throng  lingered  by, 
ready  to  identify  the  remains  of  possible  rela 
tives  or  friends.  The  air  was  full  of  powdered 
lime  and  smoke,  and  had  a  queer,  pungent 
smell. 

"Come  on,"  said  Lindbohm,  "before  they 
find  a  body.  I  don't  like  to  see  such  things, 
and  don't  let  this  affect  you,  my  friend.  Pan 
ayota,  you  know,  is  in  the  Turkish  quarter." 


360  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

Lindbohm  urged  this  cheering  assurance 
with  the  insistent  frequency  of  a  man  who  is 
trying  to  water  his  own  hopes. 

On  the  edge  of  the  ruined  quarter  was  a 
pile  of  rubbish  which  had  once  been  a  cottage. 
Three  of  the  walls  had  fallen  down,  but  the 
one  facing  the  street  was  still  standing.  A, 
young  and  beautiful  Cretan  woman  looked 
in  through  one  of  the  holes  where  the  win 
dows  had  been,  watching  a  man  who  was 
clearing  away  debris  with  a  shovel  and  lifting 
blocks  of  stone  to  one  side.  The  woman's 
face  was  drawn  with  agony,  and  she  stared  at 
the  man,  great  eyed  and  silent,  like  a  tor 
tured  dumb  creature.  Every  time  that  he 
lifted  a  rock,  she  gave  some  sign  of  a.  fiercer 
wrench  of  pain,  as  when  the  executioner 
gives  another  twist  to  the  rack;  sometimes 
she  thrust  one  hand  against  the  window  sill 
and  swung  part  way  around,  as  though  about 
to  fall;  sometimes  she  clasped  her  hands  to  her 
heart  and  gasped  for  breath.  Once  she  cov 
ered  her  eyes  for  a  long  time  as  though  fear 
ful  of  seeing  the  very  thing  she  was  waiting 
for.  And  when  at  last  the  man  lifted  a  little 
charred  body  from  the  crumbled  lime,  she 
broke  into  a  series  of  dreadful  screams,  shriek 
ing  "No!  No!  No!"  until  her  voice  died  into 


A  TROUBLED  MIND  361 

a  hoarse  whisper.  The  husband  tore  off  his 
jacket,  wrapped  it  around  the  tiny  body  and 
came  into  the  street,  his  own  grief  eclipsed  by 
the  greater  solicitude  for  the  young  wife. 
And  when  the  woman  took  the  pitiful  burden, 
rocking  it  on  her  heart  and  talking  baby  talk 
to  it,  he  walked  by  her  side,  patted  her 
disheveled  hair,  and  tried  to  call  her  back 
from  the  brink  of  insanity  with  endearing 
terms.  As  they  passed  through  the  throng  of 
waiting  Cretans,  every  man  removed  his  head- 
covering,  hat,  fez  or  handkerchief,  and  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"Come  away,"  said  Lindbohm,  choking, 
"the  poor  little  baby." 

"I  want  to  get  out  of  this  damned  place," 
shouted  Curtis  with  sudden  vehemence,  shak 
ing  his  fist.  "It's  a  hell  of  horrors  and  I'm 
sick  of  it!" 

"Courage,  courage,"  said  Lindbohm,  "the 
more  horrible  it  is  the  more  haste  we  must 
make  to  find  Panayota.  Poor  Panayota!  She 
is  no  horror,  eh,  my  friend?" 

They  came  into  the  public  square,  where  the 
shells  from  the  "Hazard"  had  fallen  thickest, 
for  here  the  Bashi  Bazouks  had  fired  on  the 
British  soldiers,  and  yonder,  rising  precip 
itously  to  a  height  of  thirty  feet,  was  the  forti- 


362  UKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

fied  stronghold  from  which  the  Turkish  guard 
had  poured  a  rain  of  bullets  upon  the  town. 
English  sentries  were  now  pacing  to  and  fro 
up  there.  But  the  chief  attraction  was  a  sort 
of  booth  in  the  center  of  the  square,  for  all 
the  world  like  a  Punch  and  Judy  booth,  and 
in  it  were  hanging  by  the  neck  seven  figures 
with  black  caps  over  their  heads,  with  their 
hands  bound  behind  them  and  their  feet  tied 
together. 

"By  George,  they've  been  hanging  the 
ringleaders,  hanging  them  higher  than  Ha- 
man!"  cried  Lindbohm. 

Curtis  could  not  realize  that  those  were  the 
bodies  of  human  beings,  there  was  something 
so  theatrical  about  their  appearance;  they 
hung  so  neatly  in  a  row,  and  the  heads  all 
lolled  one  way,  like  heads  of  Brownies  in  an 
advertisement. 

"Maybe  they  have  hanged  them  in  effigy," 
he  suggested. 

Lindbohm  laughed. 

"Might  as  well  be  now,"  he  replied.  "But 
let  us  ask  the  guard  where  we  will  find  the 
commandant.  Then  we  shall  learn  something 
about  Kostakes  and  Panayota." 

"You  go,"  said  Curtis;  "I'll  wait  for  you 
here."  He  shrank  from  the  ingenuous  expla- 


A  TROUBLED  MKSTD  3^3 

nation  that  Panayota  was  his  betrothed.   The 
very  thought  made  him  shudder. 

"I  can't  tell  him,"  he  muttered,  as  he 
watched  Lindbohm  forcing  his  way  through 
the  throng.  "I  must  get  away  from  him  some 
way.  By  Jove,  I'll  run  off  and  leave  him, 
if  I  can't  do  any  better.  Good  God,  what  an 
escape  I've  had!" 

"Hi!"  shouted  Lindbohm,  so  that  every 
soul  in  the  square  turned  and  looked  at  him. 
He  was  standing  on  tiptoe  and  Curtis  could 
see  the  ruddy  face  with  its  red  bandanna  halo 
floating  on  a  sea  of  heads.  "Hi!"  called  the 
Swede  again,  waving  his  stick  in  air.  "Come 
here,  quick!  I've  found  Kostakes." 

"Now,  what  the  devil  do  I  Want  of  Kos 
takes?"  muttered  Curtis,  plunging  reluctantly 
into  the  press.  When  he  had  reached  Lind- 
bohm's  side,  the  Swede  gripped  him  by  the 
arm  and  pointed  a  long  finger  at  one  of  the 
pantomimists  in  the  Punch  and  Judy  booth. 

A  board  hung,  suspended  from  the  neck  of 
each,  with  a  name  and  crime  inscribed  thereon 
in  Turkish  and  English.  Curtis  read: 

KOSTAKES  EFFENDI. 

Captain  of  Bashi  Bazouks, 

Murder  and  Arson. 


364  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"It  is  hard  for  a  soldier  to  die  thus,"  said 
the  Swede  sadly.  "But  a  soldier  who  dis 
graces  his  calling,  deserves  such  a  death. 
Well,  my  friend,"  turning  to  Curtis,  "half  our 
work  has  been  done  for  us,  eh?  Now  the  rest 
will  be  easy.  Is  it  not  so?" 

Curtis  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  the 
hooded  form  before  him,  nor  move  from  the 
spot  where  he  stood.  As  long  as  he  stared 
at  the  head,  covered  with  its  black  cloth,  he 
was  impressed  with  a  sense  of  unreality;  so1 
might  a  row  of  wax  inquisitors  be  shown  in 
the  Eden  Musee  at  New  York.  And  that 
pitiful,  limp  tilting  of  the  head  was  not  at  all 
suggestive  of  Kostakes,  who  was  ever  wont  to 
hold  his  neck  stiff  and  stand  upright  with  a 
certain  jaunty  insolence.  But  when  Curtis' 
eyes  traveled  downward,  the  unreality  van 
ished.  The  long  row  of  buttons,  the  dark 
blue  trousers  tucked  into  the  tops  of  the  high 
ly  polished  boots,  the  spurs,  the  backward 
bulging  of  the  thick  calf  of  the  leg — all  these 
things  brought  back  to  him  a  flood  of  remi 
niscences.  He  remembered  the  fight  at  Am- 
bellaki,  and  the  long  ride  across  country. 
He  could  see  those  very  legs  clasping  the  side 
of  a  horse,  and  he  wondered  once  more  how 
their  owner  managed  to  keep  the  boots  so 


A  TROUBLED  MIND  365 

spotless.  Then  he  saw  Panayota  again,  the 
most  splendid  creature  he  had  ever  seen,  de 
nouncing  the  Turk  for  the  murder  of  her  fath 
er,  and  he  felt  once  more  the  old  thrill  of 
admiration  and  chivalrous  purpose.  Ah! 
She  had  touched  the  Turk,  she  had  made  him 
wince,  brave  girl,  despite  those  insolent  eyes, 
and  that  square,  protruding  under  jaw.  Any 
one  could  see  that  by  the  way  in  which  he 
stopped  twirling  the  end  of  the  little  black 
mustache  and  began  nibbling  it.  The  long 
chase  after  Kostakes,  with  those  turbulent 
Cretans,  the  night  in  the  square  when  Cur 
tis  had  fired  point  blank  at  him  and  missed 
him — all  these  things  passed  through  his  mind 
like  scenes  on  a  moving  panorama,  as  he 
gaped  at  those  dark  blue  breeches  and  the 
well-polished  boots  with  their  long  spurs;  but 
when  he  raised  his  eyes  again  to  the  black- 
hooded  head,  tipped  to  one  side  like  a  man 
with  a  stiff  neck,  the  whole  incident  seemed 
ended;  this  life  in  Crete,  became  a  fantastic 
dream  and  took  on  the  unreality  of  those  face 
less  puppets,  hanging  all  in  a  row,  gently  os 
cillating  in  the  breeze. 

"Move  on!"  said  a  stern  voice,  sharply. 

"They  mean  us,"  said  Lindbohm,  pulling 
Curtis  away,  "it  seems  they  allow  no  loitering 


366  LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

here.  Well,  the  next  thing  is  to  see  the  com 
mandant  and  make  some  inquiries  about  Pan- 
ayota,  eh?" 

"Lindbohm!"  cried  Curtis,  pettishly,  "I 
don't  want  to  go  to  the  commandant.  See 
here,  old  man,  there's  something  I  want  to  tell 
you.  Something  I  must  tell  you.  I  can't 
stand  this  any  longer." 

They  had  passed  the  crowd  and  were  alone 
now.  The  Swede  stopped  and  looked  stead 
ily  at  his  companion.  Curtis  glanced  up  fur 
tively.  There  was  nothing  but  inquiry  in  those 
brave,  honest  blue  eyes. 

"I  say,  old  man,"  he  stammered,  "don't  you 
think  we  ought  to  go  and  get  some  hats  and 
things  before  we  go  to  the  commandant?  I 
don't  want  to  offend  you,  but  you — but  we 
look  like  the  very  devil!" 


CHAPTER  XLI 

ROMANCE  AND   PRUDENCE 

THE  Lieutenant  found  no  difficulty  in 
buying  another  straw  hat,  as  the 
booths  of  the  town  were  all  open 
again;  and  another  shoe-string  was  easily  ob 
tainable  by  which  he  tethered  it  to  his  button 
hole. 

An  enterprising  Jew  produced  a  stock  of 
ready-made  clothing  from  Vienna,  and  Curtis 
endeavored  to  persuade  Lindbohm  to  join  him 
in  the  purchase  of  a  complete  new  outfit. 

"The  first  thing  is  to  find  Panayota,"  said 
the  Swede.  "We  must  not  waste  a  moment. 
Ah,  my  friend,  you  mistake  that  girl!  She 
will  be  so  glad  to  see  you  that  she  will  not  look 
at  your  clothes." 

Clapping  a  straw  hat  upon  the  head  of 
Curtis,  he  dragged  him  away.  They  found 
the  commandant's  quarters  with  little  diffi 
culty,  as  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  Ca- 
nea  was  able  to  direct  them.  It  was  an  ori 
ental  house  with  a  garden.  Two  sentinels 
stood  at  the  gate.  Lindbohm  sent  in  his  card, 
and  a  youthful  officer  in  fatigue  uniform  came 

367 


368  MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

out,  who  stared  with  evident  surprise,   and 
then  gazed  curiously  at  the  two  callers. 

Lindbohm  brought  the  heels  of  the  yellow 
boots  together  and  saluted. 

"Pardon  our  appearance/'  he  explained, 
"but  the  fact  of  the  matter  is  we  have  been 
fighting  with  the  insurgents  for  the  last  three 
months,  and  we  have  not  yet  had  an  opportu 
nity  to  purchase  clothing." 

The  Englishman  laughed  and  held  out  his 
hand  cordially. 

"Come  in,  Lieutenant,"  he  said,  "and  your 
friend  here."  They  entered  the  court.  "Take 
a  seat  here  in  the  shade.  Shall  I  order  you 
some  coffee,  Turkish  style — or  perhaps  you'd 
prefer  some  whisky  and  soda." 

"I'd  like  a  Christian  drink!"  cried  Curtis 
with  great  animation.  "Something  to  take 
the  taste  out  of  my  mouth." 

"O,  yust  bring  me  some  whisky,  thank 
you,"  said  the  Swede,  sitting  on  the  edge  of 
a  chair,  impatient  to  go  on  with  the  business 
that  had  brought  him  there. 

"My  name  is  Jones,"  said  the  Englishman, 
"Lieutenant  Alfred  Jones,  at  your  service." 

"Let  me  present  my  friend,  Mr.  Curtis,  Mr. 
•John  Curtis.  And  now,  Lieutenant,  we  wish 
to  inquire  about  a  Cretan  lady,  Panayota 


ROMANCE  AND  PRUDENCE          369 

Nicolaides,  whom  Kostakes  Effendi  captured 
and  carried  off  from  her  friends.  She — " 

"She  was  the  daughter  of  some  friends  of 
ours,"  broke  in  Curtis,  volubly,  as  Lindbohm 
waved  his  hand  toward  him.  "Her  father,  a 
priest,  befriended  us.  We  were  shipwrecked 
and  I  stepped  on  some  sort  of  a  damned  thing, 
a  kind  of  sea-pincushion  stuck  full  of  pins,  and 
it  poisoned  me.  And  the  priest  took  me  in 
and  took  care  of  me,  and  the  Turks  swooped 
down  on  the  village  and  murdered  half  the  in 
habitants  and  carried  the  girl  and  her  father 
off.  Then  they  killed  the  old  man.  This 
Kostakes—" 

"That  must  have  been  one  of  the  chaps  that 
we  hanged  last  night,"  interrupted  Lieutenant 
Jones. 

"Yust  so,"  said  Lindbohm,  "and  now  we 
want  to  know  what  has  become  of  Panayota. 
My  friend  here — " 

"The  fact  is  we  feel  very  grateful  and  we 
want  to  know  what  has  become  of  the  girl," 
interrupted  Curtis,  determined  at  all  hazards 
to  head  off  Lindbohm's  explanation  to  this 
civilized  Englishman,  who  might  be  inclined 
to  smile  at  a  tale  of  romance, 

"The  commandant  is  out,  but  I  think  I 
am  the  very  man  you  want  to  see,"  said  the 


370  LIKE  ANOTHER  HEL.EN 

Englishman.  'This  gentleman,  Kostakes,  it 
seems,  had  three  wives,  two  Turkish  ladies 
besides  the  Greek — " 

'The  Greek  was  not  his  wife!"  interrupted 
Lindbohm,  with  dignity. 

"Well,  however  that  may  be,  they  all  came 
back  to  the  ruins  of  his  house — it  seems  his 
house  got  in  the  way  of  one  of  our  shells  and 
there  wasn't  much  left  of  it.  Well,  there  they 
all  stood,  the  two  houris,  wringing  their 
hands  and  howling  and  the  Greek  quiet 
enough,  but  looking  sort  of  dazed.  I  was  out 
with  a  squad  and  came  across  them  myself. 
Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  we're  assist 
ing  all  the  Turks  to  emigrate  from  here  that 
feel  so  disposed,  and  we  sent  off  the  three 
women  this  morning." 

"My  God — where  to?"  asked  Lindbohm. 

"Why,  the  Greek,  it  seems,  had  some 
friends  in  Athens.  She  has  had  enough  of 
Mohammedanism,  and  wanted  to  be  put  off 
there.  So  we  gave  her  a  pass  to  Athens.  The 
other  two  go  on  to  Constantinople." 

"When  does  the  next  boat  go  to  Athens?" 
asked  Curtis,  looking  up  suddenly. 

"There's  an  Austrian  Lloyd  to-morrow 
morning  at  ten  which  stops  at  Athens." 

"For—?" 


ROMANCE  AND  PRUDENCE          371 

"Trieste." 

The  Englishman  accompanied  his  two  call 
ers  to  the  gate. 

"I'd  like  to  hear  the  story  of  your  adven 
tures  with  the  insurgents,"  he  said.  "You 
must  have  had  some  lively  experiences.  Good 
day,  gentlemen." 

"By  the  way,"  cried  Lindbohm,  turning 
back,  "lest  there  be  any  mistake,  was  this 
Greek  girl  very  beautiful?" 

"Ye-es,  yes,  I  should  call  her  a  very  fine 


woman." 


"What  was  the  color  of  her  hair?  Brown?" 
"I  don't  remember  exactly.     I  believe  it 
was." 

"Tall,  slender,  oval  face,  big,  fine  eyes?" 
"Well,  you  see,  I  only  saw  her  for  a  mo 
ment.  She  certainly  was  tall  and  slender, 
and — and — a  fine,  handsome  woman.  Held 
her  head  back  and  threw  her  chest  out,  and 
had  a  sort  of  independent  air  about  her." 

Lindbohm  had  no  further  doubts;  he  was 
not  aware  of  Ferende's  existence. 

Preparations  for  departure  on  the  morrow 
were  begun  at  once.  Curtis  had  no  difficulty 
in  raising  some  money  at  Cook's  on  his  letter 
of  credit.  His  passport  and  two  or  three  let 
ters  from  home  were  sufficient  identification. 


MKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

"How  are  you  off  for  money,  old  man?"  he 
asked  Lindbohm.  The  Lieutenant  drew  from 
the  recesses  of  the  ancient,  water-warped 
pocketbook  a  five  pound  note,  badly  faded 
and  stained.  It  came  in  two  at  one  of  the 
creases  as  he  held  it  up. 

"I  will  paste  this  together,"  he  said,  "and 
it  will  be  yust  as  good  as  ever.  I  have  plenty 
more  in  Athens." 

"All  right,  then,"  replied  Curtis,  "I'll  get 
the  tickets—" 

"But  I  have  plenty." 

'We  must  buy  some  clothes.  I'll  get  the 
tickets." 

Lindbohm  assented,  so  far  as  the  tickets 
were  concerned,  but  he  positively  refused  to 
buy  clothing  till  he  got  to  Athens.  He  took 
a  stroll  about  the  town  to  see  what  military 
preparations  were  going  on,  while  Curtis  ar 
rayed  himself  in  a  cheap,  ill-fitting  suit  and  a 
new  pair  of  tan  shoes,  for  all  of  which  he  paid 
a  high  price.  He  also  bought  a  leather  trav 
eling  bag,  into  which  he  put  a  supply  of  un 
derwear  and  other  necessities.  The  Cretan 
boots  and  the  simitar  he  tied  to  the  handle 
of  the  bag  as  souvenirs. 

So  the  next  morning  Curtis  and  Lindbohm 
walked  briskly  through  the  kaleidoscopic 


ROMANCE  AND  PRUDENCE          373 

square  to  the  wharf  and  embarked  in  a  row- 
boat  for  the  steamer  waiting  out  in  the  bay. 

Curtis  looked  back  at  the  town.  The  col 
ored  awnings  were  all  up,  the  square  was  a 
moving,  shifting  mass  of  bright  costumes, 
through  which  trotted,  to  and  fro,  the  patient, 
useful  and  immemorial  ass.  The  Punch  and 
Judy  booth,  with  its  row  of  pantomimists,  had 
been  removed  and  apparently  forgotten.  A 
group  of  dignified  old  gentlemen  in  fezzes  sat 
at  a  cafe,  smoking  narghiles.  It  takes  an 
oriental  town  but  half  an  hour  to  recover 
from  a  massacre  or  a  bombardment.  The 
eternal  languor  of  the  East  flows  over  and 
engulfs  any  outburst  of  passion,  as  the  sea 
swings  to  rest  over  a  submarine  eruption.  A 
sentinel  in  red  jacket  and  white  helmet  paced 
along  the  rampart  wall.  A  bugle  sounded 
faint  and  far  and  a  man-o'-war's  boat  flew  by, 
the  petty  officer  in  the  stern  bending  and 
straightening  to  the  rhythmical  splash  and 
rattle  of  the  oars. , 

'There  will  be  no  difficulty  in  finding  her  in 
Athens,"  said  Lindbohm  as  the  two  stood  at 
last  on  the  deck  of  the  steamer. 

"Tickets,  gentlemen!" 

The  waiting  employee  glanced  at  the  two 


374         LIKE  ANOTHER 

tickets  and  then  handed  them  back,  one  to 
Curtis  and  one  to  Lindbohm. 

"Here,"  said  the  latter;  "he  made  a  mis 
take.  I've  got  your  ticket,  'John  Curtis,  Tri— - ' 
What  does  this  mean?  Why  are  you  going  to 
Trieste?" 

"Lindbohm,"  said  Curtis,  laying  his  hand 
on  the  Swede's  arm,  "Panayota  isn't  in  Ath 
ens." 

"Is  she  in  Trieste?  Why  are  you  fooling 
me?" 

"I'm  not  fooling  you.  I  couldn't  tell  you 
because  I  thought  you'd  want  me  to  go  and 
see  her,  and  bid  her  good-bye.  And  I  couldn't 
do  it.  I  just  couldn't.  It  would  be  too  pain 
ful  for  both  of  us,  and  it  wouldn't  do  any 
good." 

"Why  shouldn't  you  go  and  see  her?  And 
why  should  you  bid  her  good-bye?  I  don't  un 
derstand." 

"You  will  understand  when  I  tell  you. 
She's  a  leper.  I  saw  her  myself,  with  my  own 
eyes,  as  we  passed  through  their  village.  She 
isn't  like  those  other  horrible  creatures  yet,  of 
course,  but  she  will  be  in  time.  My  God, 
Lindbohm,  think  of  what  an  escape  I've  had! 
I  was  so  wrapped  up  in  the  girl  that  I  actually 
thought  of  marrying  her — after  a  while.  Sup- 


ROMANCE  A:ST>  PRUDENCE          375 

pose  I  had  done  so,  and  it  had  broken  out  on 
her  afterward!" 

The  Lieutenant  was  very  pale.  When  he 
spoke  his  voice  was  low  and  unnaturally  dis 
tinct,  and  he  divided  his  sentence  into  groups 
of  two  and  three  words,  like  a  man  who  is 
making  a  superhuman  effort  to  control  him 
self. 

"And  what  about — this  young  woman — 
who  went  to  Athens?" 

"O,  she's  somebody  else.  I  couldn't  be 
mistaken  in  Panayota- — I  tell  you  I  saw  her, 
man.  Why,  I  was  as  close  to  her  as  from 
here  to  that  mast  yonder." 

"But  perhaps  there's  some  mistake  in  the 
reason  for  her  being  there.  Perhaps " 

"Why  didn't  she  come  out,  then,  when  she 
saw  me?  She  clapped  her  hands  in  front  of 
her  face  and  shrank  away.  My  first  impulse 
was  to  go  in,  and  then  it  flashed  over  me  in 
a  minute.  Besides,  you  heard  what  Hassan 
Bey  said — that  the  lepers  are  nearly  all  Cre 
tans." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you're  yust  going 
away  without  going  back  to  comfort  her  or 
say  a  word  to  her?" 

"But  since  she  showed  plainly  that  she 
wanted  to  avoid  me?  I  tell  you,  old  man,  I'm 


376  MKE  ANOTHER  HEUEN 

doing  the  kindest  thing  for  both  of  us.  It's 
incurable,  you  know,  and  even  if  it  wasn't, 
my  mother  and  my  governor  would  never 
consent.  I  should  have  had  a  circus  with 
them,  anyway." 

Lindbohm  walked  to  the  taffrail  and  looked 
dreamily  away  toward  Canea.  There  was  an 
unexpected  roar  of  a  great  whistle — a  boat's 
whistle  is  always  unexpected — and  the  anchor 
chain  began  to  rattle  and  click. 

"It  takes  a  long  time  to  get  the  anchor  up, 
doesn't  it?"  asked  Curtis. 

Lindbohm  made  no  reply,  but  when  the 
chain  finally  ceased  to  rattle,  he  asked  in  a 
low  tone,  and  without  looking  at  his  com 
panion: 

"So  you  give  her  up,  eh?" 

"Why,  of  course,  old  man.  Seems  to  me 
I've  made  that  plain  enough!" 

The  ringing  of  a  bell  seemed  to  awaken 
the  sleeping  ship.  She  shuddered  as  the  ma 
chinery  started.  There  was  a  patter  of  hast 
ening  feet  on  the  deck  and  a  great  churning, 
as  the  wheel  made  its  first  revolutions  in  the 
water.  Shore  boats  were  cast  off,  with  much 
shouting  and  gesticulating  of  picturesque 
Cretans,  standing  erect  in  their  tiny  craft, 
violently  rocked  by  the  agitated  sea.  As  the 


ROMANCE  AND  PRUDENCE          377 

ship  moved  majestically  away,  a  few  boats 
clung  to  her  side  like  whiffets  to  a  stately  stag. 
One  by  one  they  dropped  off  and  drifted 
astern.  Lindbohm  turned  and  looked  about 
the  deck.  Spying  his  satchel,  he  picked  it 
up  and  walked  to  the  ladder,  at  the  foot  of 
which  one  boat  was  still  tied.  Curtis  ran  to 
him  and  seized  him  by  the  shoulder. 

"Where  are  you  going,  old  man?" 

"To  Panayota." 

"But  this  is  madness.  You  can't  do  any 
thing.  I  tell  you  the  girl  is  a  leper." 

The  Swede,  muttering  "I'll  yust  take  my 
chances,"  continued  down  the  steps  and  took 

his  seat  in  the  boat. 

> 

Curtis  stood  watching  him  as  he  was  rowed 
away,  hoping  against  hope  that  he  would 
turn  around  and  wave  his  hand  or  make  some 
sign.  But  no,  he  sat  up  very  straight,  his 
arms  hanging  a  little  out  from  his  body,  the 
back  of  his  neck  looking  very  broad  and  red. 
The  straw7  hat  leaped  from  his  head.  He  caught 
it  in  midair,  jammed  it  back  and  held  it  in 
place  with  one  big  hand. 

And  so  Peter  Lindbohm  went  back  to  his 
love — Peter  Lindbohm,  true  knight  and 
noble  gentleman,  with  the  heart  of  a  lion  and 
the  soul  of  a  child.  As  friend  he  was  stancH 


JLIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN 

even  to  his  own  seeming  undoing,  and  made 
no  moan;  as  lover,  he  was  great  enough  to 
be  faithful  unto  more  than  death,  and  for  such 
there  is  a  full  reward.  No  sacrifice  awaited 
him,  but  a  long  lifetime  of  peaceful  joys. 
If  Peter  Lindbohm  ever  goes  to  war  again, 
it  will  be  in  defense  of  wife  and  children. 

And  John  Curtis,  to  whose  romantic  and 
brave  nature  there  was  attached  an  auto 
matic  brake  of  New  England  prudence,  sailed 
away  to  his  own  land.  And  the  last  sound 
that  he  heard  from  Crete  was  the  voice  of  the 
Swede's  boatman  singing: 

From  the  bones  of  the  Greeks  upspringing, 

Who  died  that  we  might  be  free, 
And  the  strength  of  thy  strong  youth  bringing,— 

Hail,  Liberty,  hail  to  thee! 

He  stood  for  a  long  time  leaning  over  the 
rail,  watching  the  receding  isle. 

As  the  land  became  more  distant,  it  grew 
more  beautiful.  The  purple  haze  of  Greece 
settled  upon  the  mountains.  Curtis  thought 
of  Panayota  as  of  a  lovely  Greek  whom  he 
had  met  in  his  dreams;  he  sighed  and  mur 
mured: 

I  enter  thy  garden  of  roses, 
Beloved  and  fair  Haidccl 


ROMANCE  AND  PRUDENCE          379 

A  steward  touched  him  on  the  shoulder 
and  said  in  German:  "Lunch  is  ready." 

Curtis  turned  briskly  around,  and  followed 
the  man  half  the  length  of  the  deck,  strug 
gling  to  drag  a  sentence  from  the  unfre 
quented  German  corner  of  his  brain.  At  last 
it  came: 

"I  am  ready,  too.  This  sea  air  makes  one 
hungry." 

He  was  glad  to  see  there  were  genuine 
Frankfurters  for  lunch.  He  ordered  a  bot 
tle  of  Rhine  wine  and  talked  German  with  the 
Captain.  When  he  came  up  on  deck  to  smoke 
his  cigar,  the  ship  was  purring  through  a 
placid,  opalescent  sea,  and  Crete  was  a  faint 
outline  sketched  against  a  gray-blue  sky. 


THE  END. 


A    LIST    OF    RECENT    FICTION    OF 
THE    BOWEN-MERRILL    COMPANY 


A     VIVACIOUS    ROMANCE    OF  REVOLU 
TIONARY  DAYS. 


ALICE    OF 
OLD     VINCENNES 

By  MAURICE  THOMPSON 


Mr.  Thompson,  whose  delightful  writings  in  prose  and  verse 
have  made  his  reputation  national  has  achieved  his  master 
stroke  of  genius  in  this  historical  novel  of  revolutionary  days 
in  Indiana.— The  A tlanta  Constitution. 

There  are  three  great  chapters  of  fiction:  Scott's  tournament 
on  Ashby  field,  General  Wallace's  chariot  race,  and  now  Maurice 
Thompson's  duel  scene  and  the  raising  of  Alice's  flag  over  old 
Fort  Vincennes. — Denver  Daily  News. 

More  original  than  "Richard  Carvel,"  more  cohesive  than 
"To  Have  and  to  Hold,"  more  vital  than  "Janice  Meredith," 
such  is  Maurice  Thompson's  superb  American  romance,  "  Alice 
of  Old  Vincennes."  It  is  in  addition,  more  artistic  and  spon 
taneous  than  any  of  its  rivals. — Chicago  Times-Herald. 

12  mo,  with  five  illustrations  and  a  frontispiece  in  color, 
drawn  by  F.   C.  Yohn, 

Price  $1.50 
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"A    NOVEL    THAT'S    WORTH   WHILE" 

The  REDEMPTION 
of  DAVID  CORSON 

By    CHARLES    FREDERIC    Goss 

A  Mid-century  American   Novel 
of  Intense    Power    and   Interest 

"THE  INTERIOR"  says: 

"This  is  a  book  that  is  worth  while.  Though  it  tells  of  weakness  and  wickedness, 
of  love  and  license,  of  revenge  and  remorse  in  an  intensely  interesting  way,  yet  it  is 
above  all  else  a  clean  and  pure  story.  It  is  safe  to  say  no  one  can  read  it  and  honestly 
ask — 'what's  the  use.'  " 

NEWELL    D WIGHT  HILLIS,   Pastor  of  Plymouth  Church, 

Brooklyn,  says: 
"  'The  Redemption  of  David  Corson*  suJtes  a  strong,  healthy  buoyant  note." 

Dr.  JOHN  H.   BARROWS,   President  Oberlin   College,  says: 

"There  are  descriptive  passages  in  it  as  exquisite  and  as  delightful  as  I  have  read  for 
years.  There  are  novel  scenes  and  situations  worthy  of  the  great  masters  of 
romance." 

Dr.   F.    W.    GVNSAULUS,   President  Armour  Institute,  says: 

"Mr.  Goss  writes  with  the  truthfulness  of  light.  He  has  told  a  story  in  which  the 
fact  of  sin  is  illuminated  with  the  utmost  truthfulness  and  the  fact  of  redemption  is 
portrayed  with  extraordinary  power.  There  are  lines  of  greatness  in  the  book  which 
I  shall  never  forget." 

President   M.    W.   STRTKER,  Hamilton   College,  says: 

"It  is  a  victory  in  writing  for  one  whose  head  seems  at  last  to  have  matched  hir 
big  human  heart.  There  is  ten  times  as  much  of  reality  in  it  as  there  is  in  'David 
Harum,'  which  does  not  value  lightly  that  admirable  charcoal  sketch." 

Price,  $1.50  Published  by 

The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapoli 


SWEEPERS  of  the  SEA 

The  Story  of  a  Strange  Navy 


By  CLAUDE   H.  WETMORE 


[From  the  St.  Louis  Mirror."] 

The  recital  of  the  deeds  of  the  "Sweepers  of  the  Sea"  is  a  breath 
less  one. 

The  rom^ice  is  heightened  by  the  realism  of  the  technique  of  naval 
warfare,  by  the  surencss  and  voluminosity  of  nautical  knowledge. 
Imaginary  sea  fights  are  told  with  all  the  particularity  of  real  events, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  descriptions  have  a  breezy  swing  that 
hurries  the  reader  along  to  most  startling  catastrophes. 
Much  of  the  material  is  evidently  worked  over  from  actual  fact  into 
the  texture  of  romance. 

The  romance  is  evidently  modern  in  action,  but  the  motives  are 
the  grand  and  noble  motives  of  a  mysterious  and  splendid  antiquity. 
The  decendants  of  the  Incas,  moved  by  the  Inca  traditions,  are  not 
at  all  out  of  harmony  with  modern  war-ships,  or  with  a  very 
modern  war-correspondent,  who  is  touched  up  a  little  to  heroic 
proportions. 

The  book  is  pleasurable  all  the  way   through,  and  some  of  the 
descriptive  passages  are  specimens  of  first-class  writing. 
The  work  bears  every  evidence  of  having  been  carefully  dcne>  and 
yet  the  story  reels  off  as  naturally  and  easily  as  if  it  were  a  running 
record  of  fact. 

That  the  general  public  will  take  to  the  book  is  a  safe  conclusion. 
It  is  just  different  enough  from  the  ordinary,  romantic  novel  to  be 
essentially  new. 

Illustrated  Price,  #1.50 

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THE  STORY  OF  AN  AMERICAN 


THE    PENITENTES 

By  LOUIS  HOW, 


To  describe  the  customs  of  this  band  of  intensely  religious 
people  without  laying  on  the  color  too  thickly  and  without  melo 
dramatic  exaggeration,  to  retain  all  the  color  and  picturesqueness 
of  the  original  scene  without  excess,  was  the  difficult  task  which 
Mr.  How  had  to  accomplish,  and  it  is  one  which  he  has  done  well. 
—Chicago  Record. 

"  The  Penitentes  "  abounds  in  dramatic  possibilities.  It  is  full 
of  action,  warm  color,  and  variety.  The  denouement  at  the  little 
church  of  San  Rafael,  when  the  soldiers  surprise  the  Penitentes  at 
mass  in  the  early  dawn  of  their  fete  day,  appeals  strongly  to  the 
dramatizer. — Chicago  Tribune. 

Mr.  How  has  done  a  truly  remarkable  piece  of  work  *  *  * 
any  hand,  however  practiced,  might  well  be  proud  of  the  marvel- 
ously  good  descriptions,  the  dramatic,  highly  unusual  story,  the 
able  characterizations.  If  "The  Penitentes"  does  not  make  its 
author  notable  it  will  not  be  for  lack  of  every  "promising"  con 
dition. —  The  Interior. 

12  mo.  Cloth,  ornamental     Price  $1.50 
The  Bowen-Mcrril!  Company,  Indianapolis 


A   STORY  OF  THE  MORGAN  RAID,   DURING 
7 HE  WAR  OF  THE  REBELLION. 


THE  LEGIONARIES 

By  HENRY  SCOTT  CLARK. 


"  The  Legionaries "  is  pervaded  with  what  seems  to  be  the 
true  spirit  of  artistic  impartiality.  The  hero,  to  be  sure,  is  a  seces 
sionist,  but  the  author,  at  least  in  this  book,  is  simply  a  narrator. 
He  stands  aside,  regarding  with  equal  eye  all  the  issues  involved 
and  the  scales  dip  not  in  his  hands.  To  sum  up,  the  first  romance 
of  the  new  day  on  the  Ohio  is  an  eminently  readable  one — a  good 
yarn  well  spun. — Cincinnati  Commercial  Tribune. 

The  appearance  of  a  new  novel  in  the  west  marks  an  epoch  in 
fiction  relating  to  the  war  between  the  sections  for  the  preservation 
of  the  Union.  "The  Legionaries,"  by  an  anonymous  writer,  said 
to  be  a  prominent  lawyer  of  the  Hoosier  state,  concerns  the  raid 
made  by  the  intrepid  Morgan  through  the  southeastern  corner  of 
Indiana,  through  lower  Ohio  and  to  the  borders  of  West  Virginia, 
where  his  depleted  command  ran  into  a  trap  set  by  the  federal 
authorities.  It  is  a  remarkable  book,  and  we  can  scarcely  credit 
the  assurance  that  it  is  the  work  of  a  new  writer. — Rochester  Herald. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  Kentucky  and  Indiana,  and  the  backbone 
of  the  story  is  Morgan's  great  raid — one  of  the  most  romantic  and 
reckless  pieces  of  adventure  ever  attempted  in  the  history  of  the 
world.  Mr.  Clark's  description  of  the  "Ride  of  the  Three  Thousand" 
is  a  piece  of  literature  that  deserves  to  live;  and  is  as  fine  in  its  way 
as  the  chariot  race  from  "Ben  Hur." — Memphis  Commercial  Appeal. 

12  mo.  Illustrated  Price  $1.50 

The  Bowen- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


ANOTHER  SUCCESSFUL  HISTORICAL  NOVEL. 


The  Black  Wolf's  Breed 

BY  HARRIS  DICKSON. 


A  vigorous  tale  of  France  in  tne  old  ana  new  world  during 
th»  reign  of  Louis  XIV. — Boston  Globe. 

As  delightfully  seductive  as  certain  mint-flavored  beverages 
they  make  down  South. — Philadelphia  Press. 

The  sword-play  is  great,  even  finer  than  the  pictures  in    "  To 
Have  and  To  Hold.",-Zw  Angeles  Herald. 

As  fine  a  piece  of  sustained  adventure  as  has  appeared  in. 
recent  fiction. — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

There  is  action,  vivid  description  and  intensely  dramatic 
situations. — St.  Louis  Globe-Democrat. 

So  full  of  tender  love-making,  of  gallant  fighting  that  one 
regrets  it's  no  longer. — Indianapolis  News. 

12  mo.,  Illustrated  by  C.  M.  Relyea, 
Price  $1.50 


The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A  FINE  STORY  of  the  COWBOY  AT  HIS  BEST. 


WITH  HOOPS  OF  STEEL 

By  FLORENCE  FINCH  KELLY. 


"  The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried,  grapple 
them   to  thy  soul    With   Hoops  of  Steel" 

"  With  Hoops  of  Steel,"  is  issued  in  handsome  style,  with 
several  striking  pictures  in  colors  by  Dan  Smith,  by  The  Bowen- 
Mernll  Company  of  Indianapolis,  a  Western  publishing  house 
that  has  a  long  record  of  recent  successes  in  fiction.  This  firm 
seems  to  tell  by  instinct  what  the  public  wants  to  read;  arid  in 
Mrs.  Kelly's  case  it  is  safe  to  say  that  no  mistake  has  been  made. 
Western  men  and  women  will  read  because  it  paints  faithfully  the 
life  which  they;  know  so  well,  and  because  it  gives  us  three  big, 
manly  fellows,  fine  types  of  the  cowboy  at  his  best.  Eastern  readers 
will  be  attracted  by  its  splendid  realism. — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

Mrs.  Kelly's  character  stands  out  from  the  background  of  the 
New  Mexican  plains,  desert  and  mountain  with  all  the  distinct 
ness  of  a  Remington  sketch  or  of  the  striking  colored  illustrations 
drawn  for  the  book  by  Dan  Smith.  It  is  not  alone  in  the 
superb  local  coloring  or  the  vivid  character  work  that  "  With 
Hoops  of  Steel "  is  a  notable  book.  The  incidents  are  admirably 
described  and  full  of  interest,  and  the  movement  of  the  story 
is  continuous  and  vigorous.  The  action  is  spirited  and  the 
climaxes  dramatic.  The  plot  is  cleverly  devised  and  carefully 
unfolded.  After  finishing  the  book  one  feels  that  he  has 
just  seen  the  country,  has  mingled  with  the  characters  and 
has  been  a  witness  of  the  incidents  described. — Denver  Times. 

12  mo.  with  six  illustrations,  in  color,  by  Dan  Smith 
Price,  $1.50 


The  Bowen- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A    NOVEL    OF  EARLY  NEW    YORK 


PATROON    VAN    VOLKENBERG 

BY  HENRY  THEW  STEPHENSON 


All  hail  to  a  colonial  story  that  deals  in  natural,  human 
characters.  Henry  Thew  Stephenson  has  given  us  in  his  new 
volume,  "  Patroon  Van  Volkenberg,"  a  story  to  think  about.  In 
seeking  his  colonial  characters  he  does  not  traverse  the  beaten 
track  that  leads  to  old  Virginia,  but  lays  his  scenes  on  the  island 
of  Manhattan. 

Many  a  heart  throb  you  will  feel  when  you  read  of  some 
stirring  incident  that  took  place  on  ground  that  is  as  familiar  to 
New  Yorkers  as  your  childhood  home.  In  fact,  the  main  action  of 
the  story  takes  place  in  what  is  now  Central  Park,  and  it  does 
seem  a  far  cry  back  to  those  almost  wild  and  savage  days,  when 
we  consider  what  changes  200  years  of  civilization  have  made  in 
men,  manners  and  environment. 

Be  it  said  to  the  credit  of  Mr.  Stephenson  that  he  has  told 
his  tale  directly  and  concisely.  What  there  is  of  description  in 
this  book  is  a  part  of  the  narrative  and  therefore  interesting. 

Many  will  compare  "  Patroon  Van  Volkenberg,"  with  its  dash, 
style  and  virility,  with  "  Richard  Carvel,"  and  in  that  respect  they 
will  be  right,  as  one  would  compare  the  strong,  sturdy  and 
spreading  elm  with  a  slender  sapling. — N.  Y.  Press. 

12  mo.,  Illustrated  in  color,  by  C.  M.  Relyea 
Price,  $1.50 

The  Bowen- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A    STORY  BY  A  REAL   STORY-TELLER 


A  SON  OF  AUSTERITY 

BY  GEORGE  KNIGHT 


Mr.  Knight  is  not  a  "saw  and  hammer" 
artisan,  he  is  an  artist  armed  with  the  finest  tools 
known  to  his  trade. 

He  has  a  delightful  story  to  tell  and  knows  how 
to  tell  it.  The  reader  realizes  at  once  that  here  is 
a  man  who  served  his  seven  years  of  apprentice 
ship  before  opening  a  shop  on  his  own  account. 

It  is  a  story  of  human  life  ;  of  possible  people 
in  possible  situations  living  out  their  little  span 
of  life  in  that  state  in  which  it  has  pleased 
God  to  call  them. 

Mr.  Knight  has  created  a  real  atmosphere  for 
his  men  and  women  to  breath,  and  his  men  and 
women  take  deep  breaths.  They  are  alive,  they 
are  human,  they  are  real. 


12  mo,,  Cloth,  with  frontispiece,  by  Harrison  Fisher 
Price,  $1.50 

The  Bowen- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


MISS  NICHOLAS' VOLUME  OF  INDIANA 


AN    IDYL    OF 
THE    WABASH 

AND    OTHER     STORIES     OF    HOOSIER    LIFE 
By  ANNA  NICHOLAS 


Not  since  Edward  Eggleston  gave  to 
the  world  "  The  Hoosier  School  Master  " 
have  so  tender  and  true  pictures  of  life 
in  the  middle  West  been  presented  as 
these  from  Miss  Nicholas.— New  York 
Mail  and  Express. 


12  mo.,  cloth  ornamental,  gilt  top. 
Price  $1.50 


The  Bowen- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


BILL  NYE'S  LAST  BOOK 


A     GUEST     AT 
THE    LUDLOW 

BY  EDGAR  WILSON  NYE  (Bill  Nye). 


A  volume  of  humorous  stories  and 
sketches,  with  twenty-one  full-page  and 
twelve  smaller  designs,  the  latter  by  the 
author. 

Printed,  bound  and  illustrated>in  a  style 
surpassing  anything  heretofore  issued  of 
Mr.  Nye's  in  book  form,  and  containing 
the  famous  humorist's  best  and  most  fin 
ished  work.  Twenty-eight  stories  and 
numerous  illustrations,  including  the  au 
thor's  introduction  in  fac-simile. 

12  mo«,  Cloth  Ornamental, 
Price  $1.25 


The  Bowen- Merrill  Company ',  Indianapolis 


FUN  FROM  BOB  BURDETTE. 


Chimes  From  a  Jester's  Bells 


A  volume  of  humorous  and  pathetic 
stories  and  sketches.  By  Robert  J.  Bur- 
dette.  Beautifully  illustrated,  bound  in 
uniform  style  with  Bill  Nye's  "  A  Guest 
at  the  Ludlow." 


12  mo.t  cloth  ornamental,  illus 
trated.     Price  $1.25 


The  Bowen-Mcrrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A   STORY  FOR    OLD   AND   YOUNG 


JOHNNIE 

BY  E.  O.  LAUGHLIN 


"  Many  a  man  tired  and  worn  with  cares  and 
responsibilities  would  renew  his  youth  if  he  would 
read  this  simple  story  of  the  unfolding  of  a  boy's 
life."—  The  Outlook. 

"This  story  carries  every  man  and  woman 
back  to  life's  beginning  in  a  way  to  mellow  the 
heart  and  stir  the  pulse."— Primary  Education, 

"A  charming  book,  that  brings  back  to  every 
boy  of  middle  age  the  sweet  delight  of  shady 
trees  and  laughing  brooks,  the  fascinations  of  a 
dusty  highway  and  the  thousand  joys  of  the 
golden  age  of  childhood.  It  is  a  rare  glimpse  into 
the  child-world  and  a  helpful  one." — Rochester 
Herald. 


Illustrated   with  Fifteen   Pictures  in    Photogravure  and 
Printed  on  Fine  Paper.     12  mo.,  Gilt  Top 

$1.25 

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FOR    CHILDREN  AND    GROWN  FOLK   ALIKE 


OF   SUCH   IS 
THE  KINGDOM 

BY  CLARA  VAWTER 
WITH  MANY  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  WILL  VAWTER 


Many  authors  have  written  exquisitely  of 
childhood,  but  not  for  children.  Miss  Vawtcr 
writes  of  children  for  children  and  grown  folk 
alike.  Her  stories  have  a  delicacy  of  fancy  which 
is  irresistibly  charming. 

Fairy-like  humor  fairly  bubbles  from  her  pen, 
and  her  literary  art  is  a  delight  in  itself,  so  artless 
is  it,  so  cameo-like,  so  exquisite. 

Her  brother,  Will  Vawter,  who  shares  all  her 
fairy  fancies  and  all  her  intimate  knowledge  of 
childhood,  has  made  a  series  of  pictures  which 
deliciously  supplement  those  from  her  pen. 

Beyond  question,  this  is  one  of  the  most  suc 
cessful  children's  books  of  the  year. 

One  Volume,   12  mo., 
$1.25 

The  Bowen- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


ONE  QUARTER  MILLION  COPIES 


w 


Have  been 

sold  of  this 

great 

historical 

love-story 

of  Princess 

Mary  Tudor, 

sister  of 

Henry  VHI 

Price,  $1.50 


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MAY  7  1919 


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FEB28  1961 

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JUN  1  5  1993 

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